God's Will
by smacky30
Summary: There's an Angel of Mercy killing women in Las Vegas. Can Grissom and Doc convince the rest of the team before he kills again? How does Sara's absence affect Grissom?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine - or last week would never have happened.

A/N: Many, many thanks to the best beta's in the world...LiT, Cropper and Mingsmommy. They tell me I can even when I think I can't. Also, Ming pointed out that Happy Meals didn't appear until 1979 so don't waste your Google-foo. Just go with it...Please.

**God's Will - Prologue**

**August 10, 1976**

It's my birthday, my own special day. I'm nine years old today. But there are no presents, no friends, no cake. There is only silence. My father is at work. My mother is in bed. She's sick, you see. Very, very sick. So instead of doing the things all my friends did when they turned nine, I'm sitting beside my mother's bed, reading a book and listening to her breathe.

My grandmother has promised to come by later. She comes by everyday to check on us. She and my father wait until I'm in bed before they begin to talk about my mother. They don't know that I sneak out of bed and listen. At first I didn't understand when they would whisper the word _cancer. _But I'm pretty smart and I figured it out. My mother is dying. She's been dying for a very long time.

I must have fallen asleep because the sound of my father's voice scares me. He's home from work and he has a bag from McDonalds. I notice that too bright smile he's been using lately and I pretend to be excited. I take one final look at my mother before going to wash my hands.

In honor of my birthday, my father has brought me a Big Mac. I've been asking for one but everyone tells me it's a big boy's hamburger and I'm just too little. So I've been forced to endure Happy Meals. It seems wrong to eat something called a Happy Meal when I'm so sad. My father decides that we can eat our dinner in the living room while we watch 'The Six Million Dollar Man'. I think he believes this hour counts as 'man' time, and I guess it does. But I want to play catch and ride my bike. I don't want to cook dinner and do laundry. I don't want to pick out my school clothes and do my own homework. I want to be nine.

It's late, maybe nine o'clock, when my grandmother shows up with my birthday cake. She hugs me and I smell alcohol, but that's something I'm getting used to. She tells me happy birthday and promises to take me to K-Mart the next day, after church, to let me pick out my own gift. I nod and smile while my dad gets the cake ready. The two of them sing to me and I blow out the candle. My dad asks if I made a wish. I tell him yes but that's a lie. The one thing I want can't be handled with a wish. I eat my cake and then ask if I can be excused.

I wake up slow. It's very dark and I lie still for a minute just listening. I can hear my father snoring a little from his bedroom down the hall. But over that, I hear the hiss of the oxygen and the rasp of the air filling my mother's lungs. I slip out of my bed and make my way to her side. My bare feet are don't make any noise on the carpet, but she knows I'm there. When she turns to look at me, the moonlight coming in from the window makes the tears on her cheeks look like silver. I open my mouth to ask what's wrong, but she puts her finger over her lips and shakes her head.

I step closer and look at her. I am watching for…I'm not sure what. There is something whispering on the air. My mother holds out her hand and I take it, letting her pull me down on the bed beside her.

"Malachi," her voice rasps in my ears, "I need you to save me."

"I…I don't know how." I whisper.

Her eyes dart to the oxygen tank beside the bed. And I know her meaning. I'm shaking my head before the thought can even complete itself.

"Please, my sweet boy. I can't take this anymore." Her hand trembles as she wipes away tears I didn't realize were on my cheeks. "Don't cry. It would be better for everyone and I'm not strong enough to do it myself."

My voice cracks when I say, "But I would miss you. I don't want you to die."

She tugs on my hand until I am stretched out beside her. My face is buried in her neck and she strokes my hair like she used to when I was a baby. "I'll miss you too sweetheart, but I'm still going to die." My whole body shakes with the force of my tears, but I don't make a sound. She holds me and I can tell how weak she is. After a while I lift my head and press my lips to her cheek. She is cold and her skin is dry, like a piece of paper. Without a word, I nod.

My mother holds my eyes with hers and says, "Thank you, baby."

I slide out of the bed and stand in front of the metal tank. I've seen my father do this a hundred times but my hands shake when I reach out and grab the knob. I turn it, slowly, slowly, until I can't hear the quiet hiss of air. Tears stream down my cheeks and drop onto the tops of my bare feet, but I can't even feel them. When I have done what she wanted I turn to face her.

With a smile that lights up her face, my mother whispers, "I love you."

"I love you, too, mama."

She is gasping now, the breath rattling in her chest. "Give me a kiss and then go to your room. Close your door and go back to sleep." When she sees how I'm trembling, she continues, "Don't worry about me, baby. This is God's will."

I kiss her cold lips. I swear that they are already turning blue. I tell her again that I love her. And then I am slipping back across the hall and closing the door. I don't expect to sleep but I must have because I wake up to the sound of my father's sobs while the sun through the window turns my room a yellow color.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: In this chapter I used statistics about Cervical and Uterine cancer. These cancers are easily detected with a simple papsmear. I deliberately did not include mortality rates for Ovarian cancer. They are much higher because the disease is harder to detect. However, if you have been putting off that doctor's visit now is a good time to make an appointment. I love all my readers and would like for them to all be healthy.

Many thanks to my betas - LiT, Cropper and Mingsmommy.

**God's Will – Chapter 1**

**December 3, 2007**

For several long moments, Al Robbins stood outside Grissom's door, watching as his friend of many years pretended to work on the file spread out in front of him. Even though all of his patients were of the non-breathing variety, Doc considered himself pretty adept at reading people. And Gil was hurting. The deep creases around his eyes, the pinched mouth and the dejected slump to his shoulders all gave him away. When he thought about it, Doc realized he hadn't seen Gil look like that since Nick's kidnapping.

Giving two sharp raps on the door frame with the tip of his cane, Doc called out, "Hey, Gil. Got a minute?"

"I was beginning to think you were going to stand out there all day." Grissom's lips turned up in a smirk at the surprise on Al's face. He would never understand why people just assumed he was oblivious to those around him.

Seeing the folder the man was carrying, he motioned for him to enter. "Come on in. What've you got? Are those the results from Abernathy?"

With a gait made strong and confident by years of practice, Doc entered the office and settled himself in the chair in front of Grissom's desk. "No. I'm still waiting on the Abernathy results to be typed up. I can tell you about it if you'd like. But this," he held the folder up, "is something else, something I'm not so sure about."

His curiosity piqued, Grissom clasped his hands together on the desk and raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

Force of habit had Doc opening the folder even though he never once looked at the contents. "I had three cases last month of women between the ages of thirty-five and forty-five, who died from apparent natural causes. All three of them were in-patient at St. Rose Dominican out in Henderson. And all three were there for hysterectomies following a diagnosis of cervical or uterine cancer."

Grissom sat quietly for a moment. "And you are telling me this because…" he let his voice trail off, his confusion evident.

"Well, first of all, three otherwise healthy women just stopped breathing. There's no indication that anesthesia was a factor, seeing as one was more than twenty-four hours post-op, and the other two were more than twelve. There was nothing on any of their tox panels to suggest an overdose. They all tested negative for histamines, so they didn't suffer from anaphylaxis. There was no other evidence of cancer in their bodies during autopsy. From looking at the cross sections, it appears that the disease had not metastasized to the other organs. In other words, there is absolutely no logical reason these women should be dead." Doc's voice was quiet but his eyes flashed with all the conviction of the newly converted.

"Okay. I can accept that these women shouldn't have died. I still don't see why this is a CSI problem, Al. We need a crime to investigate."

"What if I told you that national averages show the mortality rate is less than eight for every one hundred thousand women diagnosed with these types of cancers every year, would that make a difference? And I'm talking about nationally. In the state of Nevada the number is two." Pausing to catch his breath, Al rubbed a hand over his goatee. "I've got three deaths here in one month from a single hospital. I may be wrong, Gil, but something doesn't smell right."

Grissom leaned back in his chair, hands clasped and index fingers resting on his pursed lips. "Even if there is something going on you're going to need more than this."

Leaning forward, Doc slid the file across the desk. "I went back a year. It seems that this hospital is beating the national average by a mile. Ten women have died, with no discernible cause, in the past twelve months. All within the same age range. All Caucasian." When Grissom started to speak, Doc held up a hand. "Just look at the file, Gil."

With a nod, Grissom lifted the folder and slid it into his briefcase. "I'll look over it at home."

Doc nodded. After a moment's pause, he asked, "How's Sara?"

"I'm not sure. She's says she's fine but…" Grissom shrugged.

Pushing to his feet, Doc studied his friend. "Well, tell her that I asked about her." He made his way to the door and then turned back. "If there's anything you need, you know who to call."

"Thanks, Al." Grissom gave the man a tired smile. "I'll get back to you on this."

_My feet are silent on the mottled gray floor tiles. I move down the hall, passing offices and labs that are empty at this time of night. I love the silence, the shadows. I'm comfortable here. The absence of prying eyes leaves me free to save those who need my help._

_I make my way to the stairwell, passing no one, and climb to the fifth floor, pulling on latex gloves as I go. I slip through the door and ease it closed behind me. I glance toward the nurses' station and, just as I expected, the area is full. Shift changes in just over an hour and final rounds have been made. All the nurses for the hall are gathered at the desk completing their paperwork. I don't tarry for fear that someone may notice me. I have to take care of business and get back to work._

_Room 517. I stand outside for a moment, a silent prayer for strength running through my mind. Drawing in a deep breath I push the door open. I pause for a moment, cataloging the room. I see the sink against the wall, the television hanging from the ceiling, the cheap wooden wardrobe. My eyes skim over the window and the chair sitting in front of it, finally coming to rest on the figure in the bed._

_I take a few steps forward and close the door soundlessly behind me. My eyes adjust to the soft gray light of dawn through the window. I move quickly now. I feel as if I'm floating – like a phantom, like a seraph. I step over to the bed and look down at the woman. I see the bruises under her eyes, the hollowness of her cheeks. Her hair lies lankly on the hard pillow. She is thin and pale in the semi-darkness. Just looking at her I am filled with a fire, a sense of righteousness that is tempered by only a hint of sadness. It is time._

_I reach into my pocket, pull out a syringe and twist off the protective cover. Grabbing the injection port in the IV line, I insert the needle and depress the plunger, pushing 3cc's of viscous fluid into the simple saline solution that is flowing into her veins. I recap the syringe and put it back in my pocket. It only takes a moment. I hear the first wheezing breath and watch as her eyes flutter open in panic._

_I bend down and whisper, so that only the two of us can hear. "Don't worry. This is God's will."_

_Then I am gone. Slipping back the way I came. Gloves tucked into my pocket over the syringe. Feet moving me stealthily back down the stairs, away from the possibility of discovery. When I reach the first floor I make my way to the chapel where I say a prayer for the soul of Emily Brannigan._

Grissom let himself in through the garage door, Hank at his side. Once again, for just a second, he started to call out so that Sara would know he was home. Then he remembered; he remembered that she wasn't there and it was like she'd just left all over again. He remembered, but Hank didn't, and the dog took off on a room by room search for the lady of the house. A few minutes later the canine returned to the kitchen and pressed up against Grissom's leg, his normally sad eyes even more dejected. With a sigh, Grissom reached down and stroked a soothing hand over his side.

"I know, boy. I miss her, too." Grissom's voice was sad and Hank whimpered in response.

With a sigh, Grissom began his after work routine. For the past two weeks the routine was the only thing keeping him sane. He fed Hank and then went to take a shower. After slipping into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, he fixed what passed for breakfast at three o'clock in the afternoon. He made sure the coffee pot was set to make coffee at 8:45 and then carried the two pieces of dry toast and cup of tea over to his desk. The only change to his routine; the file Al gave to him. Grissom flipped it open and began to read.

He poured over the autopsy reports and the national, as well as the county-wide statistics that Al had printed out. Before long he felt that familiar tingle along the back of his neck. Something wasn't right. Grissom just wasn't sure it was something they could prove.

Two hours later, his eyelids were so heavy that he could no longer ignore the need for sleep. By rote, he clipped on Hank's leash and took him out into the backyard. Once they were back in the house, Grissom shuffled into the bedroom. After removing his clothes, he crawled between the sheets not even bothering to tell Hank he had to sleep in his own bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He dreamed of Sara. He always dreamed of Sara. Always. In his sleep he felt her soft skin against him, heard her throaty voice in his ear. The vision smiled at him and he was lost in her heat. She was on his tongue, her scent filled his nostrils, her body was under his hands, pressed against him and for those few hours he was truly happy.

However, the happiness was short-lived. The bleat of the alarm dragged him, hard and aching, from his restless slumber at nine o'clock. Lying in bed, hands clasped behind his head, Grissom ruthlessly ignored his state of arousal. Memories of the years before Sara became his lover came rushing back to him. Pushing off the mattress, he stumbled to the bathroom. Face washed, teeth brushed, clothes on, he moved to the kitchen and fixed a cup of coffee. With his cup in one hand and Hank's leash in the other, Grissom set out on a short walk. The sidewalks and streetlights in the neighborhood made being a night dweller easier.

Business taken care of, Grissom loaded everything into the car and headed out to drop Hank at the sitter's. It wasn't until he pulled into the parking lot at the lab that he marked another day off his mental calendar. Eighteen days without Sara. And for what felt like the millionth time he asked himself if this was how she felt when he was in New England.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks to everyone who read over this for me and gave me an opinion. Special thanks to LiT for keeping me sane.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

The cab driver who dropped Sara off at the house on Canyon Court must have thought she was crazy. She had been fairly calm until the yellow car turned the corner onto their street. That was when the tears came. Slowly at first but building quickly into a streaming torrent. By the time he pulled up in the drive she was sobbing so hard she couldn't even speak. She could barely even comprehend what he was saying when he told her the fare was twenty-five dollars, but she still managed to pull thirty out of her wallet and hand it to him over the seat. Ignoring the man's concern, Sara stumbled her way to the door and let herself into the house

She cried while she packed a few clothes and necessities, while she washed the last vestiges of the crime lab off her skin. She cried as she left another note for Gil, promising to call when she got where she was going. But when she had her bags stowed and she was finally settled behind the wheel of the car the tears stopped, only to be replaced by an eerie calm. Somehow, almost without her consent, Sara's car pointed itself toward the northwest and she set out to fix the mess that was her. Six hundred miles later and she was right back where she'd started.

Having survived her childhood, Sara wasn't afraid of much. But her first call to Grissom found her hands shaking and her stomach quivering. The butterflies in her stomach surprised her. It had been a long time since the thought of what he might say made her nervous. She stared at the phone for half an hour before she could find the strength to press the buttons that would speed dial his number. The ringing seemed interminable, but it was probably no more than two or three. In the split second of dead air that existed between him flipping the phone open and actually beginning to speak, she almost hung up.

Grissom's voice was soft, tentative. "Hello?"

"Gil." Sara breathed his name like a benediction. "It's me."

Silence for a heartbeat and then the question, "Are you okay?"

"Depends on what you mean by okay." Sara realized too late that it was not the time for flippancy. When he didn't respond, she said, "If you mean physically then yes, I'm okay. Emotionally, not so good."

She could picture him struggling to think of the right thing to say. "Can you tell me about it?"

Sara could feel the sting of tears and she fought desperately against them. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "The highlights were in the letter. The rest I'll tell you about, but not right now."

Grissom paused as if trying to comprehend her words. Finally he spoke. "Where are you?"

"I rented a cabin for a month in Tomales Bay. I got a really good deal because it's the off season. It's right on the beach and it's beautiful. Hank would love it here." Her voice almost broke on that last sentence but she reined her emotions in very quickly. "I need a place to do some thinking. I might work in some hiking and some vegetating, too."

"Need some company?" His offer was only half in jest.

"Gil…" Sara trailed off uncertainly. She had hurt him enough and she didn't want to make things worse. "What I _want_ is for you to come and rescue me. What I _need_ is to get my shit together. Please tell me you understand."

"I do, sweetheart. Honestly." Grissom tried to let his words convey what he was feeling. He didn't understand why it was so hard for him to just tell her how he felt. For a long moment he listened to the faint sound of her breathing and took comfort in the familiar rhythm. Finally he asked, "Do you have a plan?"

"Not really." When he didn't answer, she continued, "I promise, Gil, that you will be the first one I talk to when I get my head on straight. But I'm not there yet, not by a long shot. Please be patient with me." The last was a whispered plea.

"I love you, Sara. Whatever it takes, that's what I'll do."

With a sigh of relief, Sara replied, "I love you, too."

The silence stretched out between them until Sara could take it no longer. "I need to go. I just wanted you to know I was safe. And I miss you."

"Oh, Sara," he began.

With a whispered bye, Sara broke the connection.

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For a week after she left Vegas, Sara spent all of her time running away from her running away. For two days she wallowed in self-pity. She cried. Her cheeks were raw from the tears of anger and pain and frustration, tears she had held at bay for years. Many hours were spent roaming the narrow beach in front of the cottage. She found several hiking trails that took her just along the edge of the bay, through the tall conifers and sparse undergrowth. She would walk until she was sure she couldn't move another muscle, and then she'd head back to the cottage and build a fire. With a cup of tea clutched in her hands she would collapse on the couch and let her mind wander. That was when the reality of where she was and what she'd done hit the hardest.

Her life had never been easy. For as long as she could remember there was violence. Her parents fought constantly. Her father couldn't hold down a job. Neither he nor Sara's mother could turn down a drink. There was never enough money, never enough food, never enough of anything to make either of them happy. And all that unhappiness was directed at those around them.

For years, twenty or so if one wanted to be technical, Sara had been hiding from what had happened when she was a child; the fear, the shame, the horror. Sometimes, when she would let her guard down, she could feel the memories crowding around her; their cold, dark fingers scrabbling against the wall she had erected around that part of her life. However, the time she spent in the desert, and everything that had happened since, put a crack in the wall. And the crack was too wide for her to repair. Everything was crumbling and the she was overwhelmed.

Somehow, some way, Sara was determined to fix her life. She had everything she'd ever wanted – Grissom, friends, important work – and it wasn't enough. Maybe she was more like her parents than she ever wanted to admit. Maybe she could never be satisfied.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to help me with this. Their advice is greatly appreciated.

**God's Will – Chapter 3**

**December 5, 2007**

Grissom made his way down the hall toward the break room. He moved slowly, shuffling through the assignment slips in his hands. When he turned the last corner he could hear the murmurs of quiet conversation coming through the open doorway. His steps faltered and for just a moment he thought of how much easier it would be to be anywhere but at work, how much easier it would be if he didn't have to pretend he wasn't in pain.

Handing out assignments had become a minefield. One that Grissom was slowly learning to negotiate on a daily basis. The sympathetic looks from Nick, the worried ones from Catherine, the animosity from Greg, and the total lack of all three from Warrick, all combined to make the first fifteen minutes of each day an exercise in torture. It served to remind him exactly why he had never shared his personal life with anyone before.

Squaring his shoulders, Grissom entered the room. "Okay, everybody, listen up. We've got a full schedule tonight." The room fell quiet as they all recognized his no nonsense tone of voice.

"Catherine, you've got a B&E. Vartann will be there." He thrust a piece of paper in her direction and waited for her to take it from his hand.

Reading from the next page, he continued, "Nick, Warrick, you two need to meet Vega. You're on an assault with a deadly."

Finally, he looked at Greg. "You're with me. We've got a homicide." Greg rolled his eyes. "Is there a problem, Greg?" Grissom's voice was cold but his eyes flared hot with barely repressed anger.

Greg slid down in his chair, ignoring the warning glances from both Nick and Warrick. "No," he said, his tone glaringly belligerent.

"Good. Get your stuff and meet me at the car in ten." Grissom took a final look around, noticing the way both Nick and Warrick avoided his gaze, before turning and walking out of the room.

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The ride to the crime scene was filled with strained silence. Greg stared out the passenger's window, the fingers of his left hand drumming against his thigh while Grissom stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched in an effort to hold back his anger at the younger man's attitude. Grissom stopped the car at the end of the alley and cut the engine. He and Greg moved to the back and pulled out their kits before walking forward to meet Brass.

"Jim, what do we have?" Grissom looked around taking in the crowd that had gathered outside the yellow tape.

Brass sauntered over. "Gil. Greg. Looks like the guy on the other side of the dumpster pissed somebody off. Face is a bloody mess. Throat's been cut. Not his best day."

"You id him yet?"

Brass shook his head. "No wallet that I could find. I'm still waiting on David to release the body so we can turn him over."

"Well, let's get started." Grissom hefted his kit and said, "Greg, you take the perimeter. I'll be down here with our dead guy."

Greg's jaw tightened and he gave a mirthless laugh. "Of course you will." Turning on his heel he stalked off.

Brass' eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Sanders got a burr up his ass?"

Grissom gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Without another word he moved off down the alley and began photographing the body.

The processing seemed to take forever. There was nothing like a dirty, smelly, dark street to make the gathering of evidence harder than normal. Grissom and Greg covered every square inch of the alley from one end to the other, photographing and bagging evidence.

An accident about a mile away was making it impossible for David to get to the scene. Nothing more could be finished until the body was released. Grissom was exhausted and his control was hanging by a thread.

Greg was still processing the dumpster. His stoic acceptance of the duty had only served to irritate Grissom's already raw nerves. Finally, almost two hours after the CSI's had arrived at the scene, the familiar sound of a stretcher rattling over the pitted asphalt reached Grissom's ears.

"Hey, Grissom. Sorry it took so long." David knelt next to the body and took a thermometer from his bag. Glancing over his shoulder, he asked, "Do you have all your photos?" When Grissom nodded, he pulled the dead man's shirt out of his pants and pushed it up so that he could push the thermometer into the abdomen immediately below the ribs. A few moments later, he jotted down the liver temperature. Consulting the chart he had memorized years earlier, he turned and said, "Time of death is approximately 5 hours ago."

Grissom consulted his watch. "So he died around eight o'clock?"

David nodded and continued his work, making notes on the form that would accompany the body to the morgue. Finally, he said, "I'm ready to roll him if you could lend me a hand."

Grissom moved over to the other side of the body and together they rolled the victim onto his side. "Can you check for a wallet, David?"

David obliged by fishing a wallet from the man's back pocket and handing it to Brass, who had moved over to join them. He then unfurled the body bag and placed it underneath the body.

Brass flipped the wallet open and read from the driver's license. "William Lee. Twenty-seven. Portland, Oregon. There's no money in it but maybe he didn't carry cash."

"Or maybe he carried it in his front pocket to avoid having his pocket picked." Grissom looked up at Brass before turning his attention back to the body.

A few minutes later the bag covered the victim and was zipped up tight. David stood and motioned for the tech to come over and lend a hand. Turning back to Grissom, he asked, "How's Sara?"

Grissom opened his mouth to answer when a voice from inside the dumpster said, "Like he'd know."

David averted his eyes, choosing to pretend that he had never asked the question. He and the tech made quick work of moving Mr. Lee onto the stretcher.

Quietly, a thread of steel in his voice, Grissom said, "Greg, I need to speak with you. Now."

Greg's head appeared over the top of the dumpster, a retort on his lips. Seeing Grissom's face he changed his mind and clambered up and out.

Motioning Greg forward, Grissom said, "Follow me." When they reached the end of the alley that wasn't populated by police officers and nosy citizens, Grissom turned to look at his young colleague. "Do you want to tell me what the problem is?"

"Not really." Greg's voice was petulant.

Drawing in a deep breath, Grissom clenched his fists at his side. "Fine. But let me explain something to you." His voice was eerily calm, but the ripe anger put color in his cheeks. "Whatever you think you know about my personal life, I am reminding you that you don't. I know that Sara is your friend. And I know that you were hurt by her departure. But for everything you have lost, I have lost ten times as much. You can be hurt, you can be mad. That's fine. But you will continue to work with me as a professional or I will place you on emergency leave until you can get your emotions under control. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah. Crystal." Greg glared at the older man. "Can I finish now?"

Grissom gave a deep sigh. "Greg…" he began, his voice softer.

"Don't worry about it, Grissom." Greg turned and headed back to the dumpster to finish processing.

Dragging a weary hand over his face, Grissom followed Greg. Soon the truck was packed and the two began their silent journey back to the lab.

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Lab coat buttoned, Grissom pushed through the swinging doors into the dull metal world that was the morgue. "Hey, Al. Are you ready for me?"

"Is there something I need to know?" Doc quipped.

"Not yet." A smile played over Grissom's face, but didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't quit your day job, my friend."

Doc threw a hand over his heart, his eyes twinkled with amusement. "Ah, you wound me."

"Not as bad as someone wounded Mr. Lee here. What've you got?"

Doc pulled back the sheet that was covering the body. "Cause of death is exsanguination. The right carotid was transected. The wound travelled right to left in an upward direction. The depth suggests that the cut was made from behind. Your killer is probably left-handed. Both hands show severe bruising but no swelling indicating that the injuries occurred just before death. Two knuckles on the right hand are split which tells me our vic was more than likely right-handed. There are bruises on his face and torso"

Grissom looked up from his study of the body and asked, "Did David get photos?"

"Yeah." Doc nodded. "You may want to take a look at these. They look like shoe prints to me but I'm not the one to make that call." He indicated a series of marks on the victim's left side before passing Grissom a magnifying glass.

Studying the bruises for several moments, Grissom nodded and said he'd have Greg come back and photograph them. Maybe they would be able to pull something out of the database for shoe treads. After asking a few more questions, Grissom stripped off the latex gloves he was wearing and tossed them in the trash. "Thanks, Al," he said.

"Sure." Grissom had just reached the swinging doors when Doc called out. "Hey, Gil. Did you get a chance to look over that file?"

"Yeah," Grissom nodded. "I was going to talk to Brass later. I think there is definitely something not right."

"Well, I'm glad you think so because we got another one this morning."

"Another one?" Grissom's brow furrowed as he considered the possibility of that many deaths within thirty days. "Same profile?"

Doc nodded. "Yep. Rucker on days caught this one. But I put out an email asking to be copied on anything that matched the criteria. He left a copy in my box and I made one for you." He turned and began to shuffle through the papers on his desk. "Here it is."

Grissom walked back and took the report from the other man's hand. "I'll look over it before I go see Jim." As he made his way out the door, he called over his shoulder, "And I'll keep you posted."

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_I met Renee in college. From the moment I saw her, she captivated me. She was sunlight and laughter, the first I had known since my mother died. I pursued her shamelessly. If I hadn't been so in love I might have been embarrassed by my behavior. But there was nothing, and I mean nothing, I wouldn't have done for just a second of her attention. _

_I married her a month before I started medical school. It was, without a doubt, the happiest day of my life. When I saw her in that long white gown, walking down the aisle toward me, I thought my heart would burst. She was a vision. I felt something I never hoped to feel. I felt whole. _

_The entire day was magical. There was food and dancing and Renee and I were right in the middle of it all. We spent our wedding night in the nicest local hotel I could find. And early the next morning we set off for Georgia. I would be attending medical school at Emory University and we had a lot to do to get ready for the beginning of classes. _

_Life was idyllic. I know people say that all the time, but I mean it. We laughed and talked and lived and loved. I studied and Renee taught school. And we made plans; the house we would buy, the trips we would take, the children we would have. It was all laid out. We would climb in bed after a long day of working toward our future and we would dream. _

_Soon, sooner than I had imagined, I began my internship. That was followed closely by residency. I was lucky to be accepted into the program at Emory so that Renee and I could stay in Atlanta. I worked hard, harder than I ever thought possible. The time I had to spend with my wife was sorely limited, but we were more in love than ever._

_I was months away from being an actual physician, months from being able to reap some of the benefits from all our sacrifice, when things went horribly wrong. Renee began having problems. I knew enough about gynecology to know that something was definitely wrong and begged her to get checked out. I walked around for weeks with the heaviness of dread in my gut. I knew that things weren't right. Finally, she gave in and saw her doctor._

_Nothing could have prepared me for the diagnosis. Cervical cancer. Stage five. There were tests and biopsies and consultations. There were tears and recriminations. And then there was surgery. My beautiful Renee was sterile. There would be no children. Not three, not even one. We were devastated. It was a harsh reminder of just how fragile hopes and dreams really are._

_By the time I finished my residency Renee wanted to move back to Henderson to be near her family. She was dealing with things the best she could and I was trying to help. But there was something missing and she thought she could find it with her brothers and sisters. I finished my training in June of 2006, and when I passed my boards I found employment with a group in Henderson. It wasn't the life we had pictured but it was all we had. For some reason, just like with the death of my mother, I had a hard time believing that our problems were God's will._

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"Jim," Grissom knocked on the door as he walked in to Brass' office, "Do you have a minute?"

Holding up a finger to indicate that he would only be a minute, Brass motioned Grissom in and pointed at a chair. Grissom sat down and looked around while he waited for Jim to finish his call.

"Yeah….Okay, we can do that….Sounds good….Yeah, how'd you guess…Sure, see you then…Me too…Bye."

He flipped the phone closed and returned it to the clip on his belt. "What's up, Gil?" he asked, a smile lighting his craggy features.

"Should I ask you the same thing?" Grissom eyed his friend speculatively.

Brass flushed and adjusted the knot of his tie. "Nothing I want to talk about right now. You should understand that."

Dipping his head, Grissom conceded the point. "Just don't wait too long."

With a nod, Brass indicated that he understood Grissom's unspoken message. He cleared his throat and placed his hands flat on the desk. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something." Grissom held up the file in his hand. "Al brought this to my attention a couple of days ago and I wanted to get your opinion."

"Okay. Tell me what you have."

Grissom slowly and methodically went through what he suspected. He laid out the case just like he would have for a jury; one fact at a time, drawing a picture of murder. When he finished, he looked at the detective and waited for him to speak.

Brass sat quietly, absorbing the information. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he said, "So, let me get this straight. You and Al are convinced that someone is murdering these women." Grissom nodded and Brass continued, "I understand all the mortality rate stuff. But I don't get how they died. What killed them?"

Grissom closed his eyes and sighed. Here was the hole in the middle of the theory. His eyes slid open and he said, "We're not sure."

A short bark of laughter escaped Brass. "Then I don't know what you want me to do." Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his desk. "Come on, Gil, you gave me a lot of numbers but nothing that proves foul play."

"I know that, Jim. But something is going on here. I'm just not sure what it is." Grissom ran a hand through his hair, his agitation showing in the gesture.

Brass studied the man across from him. He took in the tired eyes and defeated posture. "Look, Gil, you don't have anything for me to work with here. If there were one complaint from one family, one blip on a tox screen, anything, I would be all over it. But I can't just go in there and start poking around. Bring me something I can work with."

Pushing up out of the chair, Grissom gave Brass a weary smile. "I know you're right, but I don't have to like it." He walked to the door and turned back. "Thanks anyway."

Brass sat at his desk and watched Grissom until he disappeared around a corner.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: A very special thanks to the three lovely ladies who beta'd this for me. The possess much patience and red ink.

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

**Chapter 4**

Sara had been keeping track of her mother for the past three years. Every time Laura Sidle moved, her daughter knew about it. She hadn't checked for a couple of months, so she would have to take a chance that Laura hadn't moved since late September. For those three years she had carried a piece of paper in her wallet upon which each of those new addresses was scribbled. After the first few days at the cottage, Sara took out that list and kept it with her constantly, a tangible reminder of what she had to do. If she was sitting on the couch the crinkled scrap was on the coffee table. If she left the cottage, it was in her pocket. Often she would find herself holding it in her hand, rubbing her fingers over the slick surface like some kind of disposable worry stone.

Having come this far, she suddenly found herself unsure. Should she call first? Should she show up on her doorstep? How did one meet their mother after twenty-three years? What do you say to the one person left to carry the blame for the debacle your childhood became? Surely it couldn't be as easy as, "Hi, I'm Sara. Remember me?"

It was a beautiful Tuesday afternoon when Sara climbed behind the wheel of her car and set out on the twenty mile trip to Point Reyes Station. The directions she had written down from Mapquest sent her south along CA-1. The highway followed the winding coastline and she took her time, enjoying the view. The sun reflected off the water. The gulls soared and dipped on currents of warm air. Pelicans tucked their wings back and dove into the blue-gray water in search of a snack. Waves crashed against the rocks, sending spray high into the sky. There was something so majestic about the ocean, something so awe inspiring. If she had missed nothing else while she was in Vegas, she missed untamed beauty of the Pacific.

Before long she was turning onto a narrow road that led inland. Slowly she picked her way along the blacktop, eyes searching for the correct number on the mailboxes. When she finally spied number 225 a sharp bark of laughter escaped her lips. She pulled over and stopped before digging out the slip of paper. Surely the address was wrong. There was no way her mother lived at a bed and breakfast.

Sara sat in the car for several long minutes staring at the house. It was a beautiful Victorian with copious amounts of gingerbread trim. The deep front porch would offer cool shade in the summer and protection from the elements in the winter. The structure rose to an imposing three stories. But the soft yellow paint gave it a warmly inviting appearance. There were orange mums blooming in planters on the porch and beds of bright pansies flanking either side of the sparkling oyster shell walk. This, she thought, was a place she could love.

Sara pulled forward and turned into the drive. Parking the car, she got out and closed the door. The clean smell of the ocean air filled her with a sense of peace and she moved in the direction of the house with hope winning the war over the dread she had felt for months. The crushed shells crunched under her feet as she walked to the house. Slowly she climbed the steps and crossed the porch. When her hand touched the knob, she hesitated for a moment before opening the heavy oak door.

With a gentle push, Sara closed the door behind her. The quiet of the house was broken by the jangling of the bell over the portal. She stood still, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the entry. A staircase on her right led to the second floor landing before turning and continuing overhead on the left. There was a beautiful, antique, cherry secretary just to the left of the stairs. Looking around, she caught a glimpse of the parlor with its shelves of books and board games and its floor to ceiling windows flooding the room with light. The dining room was on the other side of the entry. And Sara just knew that if she went past the staircase she would find the kitchen.

Spying a bell on the desk, she stepped forward and hit it with her hand, eliciting a quiet ding. Then, from the back of the house, she heard footsteps. She plastered a smile on her face, prepared to look foolish for being in the wrong place. But when she caught sight of the person walking toward her the breath left her lungs in a rush. She simply stared at the woman who had inhabited her dreams and her nightmares for as long as she could remember.

She was not as tall as Sara remembered, but it seemed that not much else had changed. Her hair was still long and, as always, it hung in a loose braid down the length of her back. Her eyes, the color of the whiskey she had loved, were still haunted. But it was her smile that had Sara fighting back the tears building in her eyes. It was the slight gap between her front teeth and the way her lips twisted into a smirk before turning into a full blown smile which told Sara that this was the person she was seeking.

"May I help you?" Laura Sidle asked with a pleasant smile on her face. For a second her eyes narrowed and she studied Sara a little harder. With a shake of her head she shrugged off that tingle of recognition.

Blinking the moisture from her eyes, Sara spoke. "Are you Laura Sidle?"

The smile faltered. The years of being in prison had made her wary of strangers asking questions. Laura wrapped her arms around her waist for protection in a gesture Sara found far too familiar. "Yes. And you are?"

Releasing the breath she didn't realize she was holding, Sara said, "I'm Sara."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Laura's trembling hand came up to cover her mouth. "Oh, God," she breathed.

"It was completely surreal, Gil." Sara pressed the cell phone tight against her ear, as if she could get closer to him by being closer to the device. "She didn't even know who I was."

"I would imagine you've changed quite a bit in the past twenty years." Grissom's voice held a hint of amusement. Sobering he asked, "Did it…bother you…that she didn't know?"

Sara thought for a moment, trying to sort through the feelings that had washed over her during that moment. Grissom could almost hear her shrug. "I'd be lying if I said no. She's my mother. I guess I assumed she would know me anywhere, anytime."

Grissom heard the fissure of pain that ran through her words, the one she tried to hide. He stayed silent, giving Sara time to work through her thoughts.

Sara let a soft chuff of laughter escape. "I can't believe she's running a B&B. Talk about coming full circle."

Grissom nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "It does seem to defy the odds. How did she end up there?"

"It seems that a couple owns it. They lived there and the wife ran the inn while the husband worked in San Francisco for Wells Fargo. He got transferred to Texas, Houston I think. They didn't want to sell it so they hired someone to run it. My mother got the job."

Grissom hesitated for a moment before asking the question that was heavy on his mind. "So, have you gotten any answers?"

Sara sighed and dragged a hand through her hair. She stared into the fire burning in the fireplace and pressed her lips together. She knew he wanted her to say yes and that she'd be home soon, but that would be a lie. "No, not really. She didn't seem all that eager to talk to me. I was only there an hour."

Biting back his disappointment, Grissom said, "Okay."

Hurrying to reassure him, Sara said, "She did agree to see me again on Thursday. It's slow at the inn right now and she has a lot of free time. So, I'm going back down there and we're going to have lunch."

"All right." His words were slow and measured. Sara could hear the frustration just under the surface.

"Griss, I'm so sorry."

He flinched at the casual use of the nickname. It made the separation seem even more real. "You haven't called me that outside of work in almost two years."

Sara was confused by the sudden change of topic. "Huh? Oh…Griss?" When he murmured in agreement, she said, "It just came out."

Grissom leaned back against the pillows on the couch and closed his eyes. He wanted to tell her that he missed her. He wanted to tell her that he couldn't sleep or eat or breathe without her there. Instead he said, "You haven't asked about Hank."

Knowing there was so much he wasn't saying, Sara fought back her need to tell him she missed him and that she wanted to come home. "Okay. How's Hank?"

"Hank is currently stretched out on the rug in the living room, staring at that ratty old slipper you gave him." Grissom tried to lighten his voice. "He…uh…he's okay."

Sara knew Grissom too well to believe that he was really talking about the dog. She knew that it was Grissom that was merely okay. Once again she found her throat tight with emotion. The ache in her chest had become her constant companion since she had confronted Hannah West the day she left Vegas. "You could give him a kiss for me and tell him that I love him." She paused a second before adding, "And tell him I'll be home as soon as possible."

Grissom was silent for a long moment. Sara, afraid she had lost the connection, held her phone out and looked at it. Finally he spoke. "I'll tell him."

"Gil," Sara whispered, "I love you, too."

He sighed. "I know you do, Sara."

Another silence stretched between them. Sara broke it by saying, "I guess you need to get to work. I'll call you soon."

"Yeah," Grissom's voice was rough with emotion. "I suppose that I do need to get ready."

"Gil?" Sara was tentative, fearing rejection. "You know that if you…um…need me for…for anything, you can call, right?"

"I know, sweetheart."

"Good. I guess I'll talk to you later then." Sara hesitated before adding, "Bye, Gil."

"Sara?" Grissom's tone was urgent. "I love you, too."

Quietly, she replied, "I know you do." And then she broke the connection.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: A very special thank you to the ladies who beta for me. I truly appreciate it! Just a note to let everyone know that there will not be another chapter before Christmas. I thank each and every one who has read and commented. You guys have made my year very special. I hope that you all have a very happy holiday season!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**Chapter 5**

**December 11, 2007**

Sara had been gone for nearly a month and things in Grissom's world were bleaker than he had ever imagined they could be. There was a deep and pervading silence in the house that no amount of music or television could disguise. Despite the emptiness, life continued to move forward. He worked and missed Sara. If he was lucky sometimes he'd even eat and sleep. His every thought, outside of work, was of her. Where she was, how she was and when she would return. It amazed him, and angered him a little, that he had been content without her for almost forty-nine years and now he could barely function for fear he would miss her next call.

Grissom had just stepped out of the shower and could hear Hank barking somewhere on the other end of the house. He was toweling off when his cell phone began to ring. Wrapping the cloth around his hips he hurried into the bedroom and scooped the device up.

"Hello," he said, without looking at the caller id.

"Gil?" Catherine's voice was tentative, unsure. "Is that you?"

He sat on the edge of the bed and dragged a hand through his damp hair. Disappointment made his reply quick and churlish. "Yes, Catherine, it's me."

"Well, you don't usually answer the phone like that. I was just making sure I had the right number," she snapped.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I just thought you might be…someone else."

"Gil…," she began.

"What can I do for you?" Grissom cut her off, not wanting her sympathy.

"You can come unlock the door and call off that beast you have in there." When he didn't respond she continued, "I brought food so come open up."

"I just got out of the shower and I'm about to go to bed." The lie rolled easily off his tongue.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "No you were not. You haven't been sleeping much and we all know it." Again, her comments were met with silence. "Please don't make me sit out here and blow the horn all day. I would hate to see the gossip mongers chewing over that one."

He gave a sigh that spoke volumes to the woman who had been his friend for more than a decade. "Give me five minutes."

He flipped the phone closed and dropped his head into his hands. He sat for a moment before pushing to his feet. He pulled boxers from their drawer and then got a clean pair of jeans from the closet along with a shirt. With a sense of resignation he slipped into his clothes and slid his feet into his shoes. Moving to the bathroom he ran a brush through his hair. With one final glance in the mirror he shuffled off to let Catherine in.

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_It's a simple thing, really. People see what they are expecting to see. It's fact. If someone thinks you are giving a patient 3 cc's of a drug then that is what they see. If the plunger doesn't go all the way to the bottom on the syringe they don't notice. It's a matter of mind over matter, if you'll pardon the expression. _

_In my line of work I don't see the patients who have a head cold or a stomach ache. I see patients who are trusting in me to make sure they sleep and wake up when it's time. I monitor heart rate and blood pressure. I keep them breathing and completely under until the worst part is over. And then I bring them back, slowly, safely, to the land of the living. I guess you could say I've been practicing for my mission for half my life._

_I remember clearly the day I realized how much good I could do. It just seemed to come to me like a light going on in my mind. Why should other people have to suffer the way my mother did? Why should a man be childless because his wife could no longer have children and he couldn't leave her? Why should husbands and children watch their loved one as the life was slowly and painfully sucked out of her by an insidious disease? The answer to all of those questions is they shouldn't._

_Anyway, all of this became clear to me one day as I watched a little boy crying at his mother's bedside. I went in to consult before she was taken down for surgery. The boy couldn't have been more than eight, maybe nine. Tears were streaming down his mother's cheeks as she held him, stroking his hair and whispering to him and I was taken back thirty years. I was nine years old again and my mother was comforting me, telling me not to be afraid. I was clinging to her and knowing that she was going away. The grief and anger poured over me in a wave and my knees started to buckle. I leaned against the wall and hoped that no one had noticed. The woman started to apologize to me, but I simply shook my head and waited. It had been a long time since I had let myself _feel _anything about my mother, but that little boy brought it all back. That is when the plan began to form._

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Catherine stood on Grissom's front porch with a six pack and a pizza. Her sunglasses were perched on top of her head and she was looking out at the street, studying the neighborhood. Taking in the quiet street and the neat houses she couldn't help but think how much the place suited Grissom and Sara, or at least the mental picture she had of them. Then the door opened and she spun to face him.

Grissom stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance, and squinted against the bright sunlight. "Catherine, what are you doing here?"

She shook her head at his greeting and shoved the beer and pizza at him, pushing past him into the house. "I wanted a pizza and needed somebody to share it with." She stopped and took a look around, jumping a little when Hank bumped against her. "Who's this?"

"That's Hank," Grissom replied. When she raised her eyebrow in a silent question, he said, "He won't bite. Go ahead."

Leaving Catherine to get acquainted with the dog, Grissom moved into the kitchen. He placed the pizza on the counter and slid the six pack, minus two, into the refrigerator.

"Nice place," Catherine said, coming into the room with Hank on her heels.

"Thanks. We like it." Grissom's response was automatic.

Catherine slid onto a stool and took the beer he had set out for her. She watched as Grissom moved around the space, pulling plates from a cabinet and silverware from a drawer. He looked different to her; smaller somehow and a little lost. Work Grissom was definitely holding up better than home Grissom.

She took a sip out of the bottle in her hand. Lowering it to the counter she began picking at the label. "So, how's Sara?"

With a grunt, Grissom opened the pizza box and studied the contents. Reaching in, he pulled out a slice and put it on his plate before turning the box toward his visitor. "She's okay."

"And how are you?" Her voice was soft, non-confrontational, but managed to get his ire up.

"I don't need your sympathy." His voice was laced with bitterness and pain.

Catherine studied the man across from her. "This isn't about sympathy, Gil."

Grissom took a bite of the pizza. It tasted the way he imagined cardboard would taste. He managed to swallow it. "What is it about then?"

"Damnit, Gil!" Catherine's anger exploded, surprising them both. "Would you stop being so fucking passive?! Tell her how you feel. Do something!" She paused to catch her breath. "Before it's too late." The last was whispered, her anger had fled leaving behind sadness and pity.

Pushing his plate away, Grissom picked up his beer and took a long drink. "She's knows how I feel."

"Does she? Does she know that you're a wreck? Does she know that you are working double after double? Does she know about you tearing Greg a new ass at a scene last week?" Sarcasm dripped from her words. She was goading him and she knew it. But sometime, with Grissom, it was the only way.

His head popped up at the mention of Greg. "How do you know about Greg?"

She waved her hand as if to dismiss his question. "That's not important. What's important is that you are worse than you were," she gestured helplessly, "before. You're working too hard. You've shut yourself off from everyone. You're not sleeping. And you've lost at least ten pounds."

Grissom averted his eyes and schooled his features into the blank mask he had perfected over the years. He couldn't allow her to see the truth. "Catherine," he said in a cool tone, "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Giving in without giving up, she said, "Fine. But Friday morning we are all going out for breakfast and you are coming with us." Grissom opened his mouth and she cut him off with a glance. "This is not open for discussion. You are not going to lock yourself up in here and wait on her to come back."

"Don't you think I owe her that much?" Grissom's question was quiet, his eyes tired.

Catherine's lips twisted up in a wry smile. "She certainly waited long enough for you. But this is…it's different, Gil."

Grissom shook his head. "How? How is it different?" Grissom's voice was sad. "She waited seven years for me to decide. _Seven years._ I can wait a few months."

"So she is coming back?"

"She says she's coming home when she… There are things you don't know, Catherine, reasons that I won't explain." Grissom's tone brooked no argument.

Holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender, she said, "I don't need to know her reasons. I'm sure they are valid. I just don't want you to waste away in here and she wouldn't want that either." There were tears in her eyes and she swiped at them. "I care about what happens to you. We all do. Stop pushing us away. At least pretend to let us help."

With a nod, Grissom agreed.

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Grissom sat at the desk in his study, his hand on the phone. It had been a week since Jim had told him to find some evidence. He was positive that someone was killing women at St. Rose's he just needed to prove it. He had always believed that you couldn't crunch evidence to fit a theory, but his problem was there was no hard evidence to support it. He was stuck with only supposition and no way to do anything about it.

He had been mulling the issue over for days. A few Google searches and he had obtained all the information he needed to contact the families of the dead women. He thought of how impressed Sara would be with his Google-fu, as she liked to call it, and he smiled. There was a list of phone numbers on the desk. He hesitated now only because it was a line he had never crossed before and once he did, he knew he could never take it back.

With a sigh he leaned back in the chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. How many times had he watched Sara tread right along the edge of going too far? How many times had he dragged her, kicking and screaming, back to the other side? But not him; no he was always analyzing, considering all possibilities, holding himself back from any hint of emotional involvement. He wasn't the risk taker, she was. Even when he needed time away from work he had a plan. Sara, however, was a free spirit. She wasn't afraid of anything, except herself and where her emotions could take her.

A sharp laugh escaped Grissom as realized just how messed up the two of them were, and how absolutely perfect they were together. He held that thought close for a moment, treasuring it, until another one struck him. If Sara was willing to change shouldn't he be? He couldn't just sit here, doing nothing, waiting on her. He needed to do something to make himself worthy of her. The more he thought, the more his resolve strengthened. With a determined glint in his eye, Grissom picked up the phone.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

A/N: A very special thank you to all the wonderful ladies who have taken the time to help me with this. It is truly appreciated. This chapter deals with Sara's past and my interpretation of that. It is MATURE! Nothing graphic but still could be disturbing. Please use discretion.

**Chapter 6**

**December 13, 2007**

The hot water of the shower slid over her skin like a lover's caress. Sara sighed and tilted her head forward, moaning as the heat helped to relax the knotted muscles of her shoulders. For a moment she allowed her mind to drift to Grissom and the feel of his skin against hers, the touch of his hands. She could feel the familiar tingle low in her belly. She had been far too long without him and her need for release was becoming harder to deny. With a groan of frustration, she dragged her thoughts back to the here and now.

Turning off the water, Sara stepped out of the tub and dried off. She moved around the bedroom getting dressed for the day and her thoughts turned to her mother. That first lunch had not been what Sara expected and neither had any of their subsequent meetings. Sara had hoped for a speedy resolution to her problems. She had hoped that they would be able to sit down and talk things through so that she could get back home. With a quiet snort of laughter, she admitted to herself that she should have known better. She was currently getting ready to make her seventh trip to Point Reyes Station and, by this point, she wasn't sure what to expect any more. Laura's shock at seeing her again seemed to have worn off but there was still a strange reticence in their interactions that Sara hadn't foreseen.

For some reason, Sara had envisioned some tearful reunion. She had dreamed of sitting somewhere, sipping tea and listening to her mother explain everything. She imagined asking questions and getting answers, answers that would somehow ease the weight she had been carrying for more than half her life. It was strange how someone who had seen so much violence and death could still hold onto a rose colored view of the world. And rose colored it certainly was, because nothing was happening the way Sara had pictured it.

Instead of providing answers, Laura asked a lot of questions. Where did Sara live? What did she do for a living? Married? Children? Sara answered honestly. After all, that's what this was about. Laura, however, didn't reciprocate. She was crafty though. She dodged Sara's questions with a quick feint here, a little bob and weave there. It had been exactly twenty-eight days since Sara walked away from her life. Twenty-eight days of thinking and introspection. Twenty-eight days of spinning her wheels. Sara's patience with the situation was quickly wearing thin.

When she left the cottage, stopping to lock the door behind her, Sara shivered and snuggled deeper into her coat. The weather was cool and the wind off the bay could cut through a body like a knife. She hurried to the car, her chin tucked into her chest in an effort to keep warm, and quickly climbed behind the wheel. As she drove, her mind again wandered over the past weeks. She was tired and lonely and ready to give up. Memories she had long held at bay were crowding in around her. But that's all she had, memories of violence and pain with no explanations, and even fewer details. She was beginning to think there were no answers, at least none she was likely to find from her mother.

Doubts continued to plague her on the ride down the coast. Maybe the whole thing was a big mistake. Sometimes it truly was better to let sleeping dogs lie. She had reached the street leading to the inn and was thinking of turning around when the memory of Grissom's face in the helicopter flashed across her mind. She could see the love shining out at her and feel her fingers clenched tightly in his caring grip. She knew, without a doubt, that he deserved something she didn't have to give. He deserved the love of a whole woman, not the cobbled together façade she had maintained for years.

Without warning, anger flowed through her. It bubbled up bright and hot, rising from the pit of her stomach to engulf her. She had left the one person who had ever loved her, truly loved her, to come here, and all she was getting was bullshit. Fueled by righteous indignation, Sara turned into the drive at the inn. She practically flew out of the car and up the path to the door. Letting herself in, she called her mother's name.

"Laura." Sara's voice was loud and tinged with bitterness. She stormed past the staircase and through the doorway into the kitchen.

Her mother appeared from a door on the left, closing it tightly behind her. "Sara? What's wrong? Are you okay?" There was confusion and genuine concern in her eyes.

Sara crossed her arms over her waist and glared at the woman in front of her. "Why would anything be wrong? Just because you act like the last two decades never happened is no reason for me to be upset. I came here for answers and I think I deserve them."

Laura jerked at the venom in Sara's voice. Then, straightening, she replied, "Deserve? You deserve answers? Let me tell you something, little girl, I've paid my dues and I don't owe you a thing."

Tears filled Sara's eyes at the way the insult rolled off her mother's tongue. The 'little girl' sounded just as slick and oily as she remembered. She recalled, vividly, her mother sitting in a drunken stupor, cigarette hovering near her lips, while her seven year old daughter tried to cook dinner. With total clarity she could see the black eye and swollen lip, results of her father's latest tirade. She remembered dropping a plate and the fear that pulsed through her when the equally drunken man stumbled in from the living room.

"_You'd better clean that shit up, little girl." He grabbed her arm and dragged her close. His breath was in her face, smelling of stale cigarettes and beer and hate. "You break another one and I'll break your ass. You understand me?" He flung her down and she cut her hand on a shard of glass. "You're no better than your fucking mother. Look at her. That's all you'll ever be."_

"Don't you ever call me that again." Her voice was low and dangerous. "I'm not your 'little girl.' I'm not anybody's 'little girl.'"

More memories crashed in on her; the slaps and kicks and shoves, the yelling and belittling, and finally, when she was already raw and hurting, the worst one of all.

"_Such a beautiful little girl." His voice was soft but the pain was excruciating. His body pressed her into the mattress. The smell of old sweat and liquor hung over him. His hand covered her mouth, muffled her screams. She fought him, twisting and turning, but he was too big, too heavy. When he was done he lay atop her and stroked her hair. "You're _my_ little girl."_

Sara's eyes slammed shut and she bared her teeth in a caricature of a smile, trying to suppress the need to throw up. This was harder than she had ever imagined. Confronting the demons might be more than she capable of handling. Uncertainty now warred with her anger.

Laura's face was ashen, but her eyes were hard, unyielding. "What do you want from me?" she spat. "You want answers? You want to know what happened that day?"

Breathing deeply through her nose, Sara tried to fight off the nausea. But nothing she did was working. She knew she had to get out of that kitchen before she embarrassed herself, before she let her mother see how weak she really was. Shaking her head she pushed past Laura and hurried toward the front door. She didn't hear Laura calling her name. She didn't hear the footsteps that trailed her down the hall.

Sara was running by the time she reached the front door, her legs pumping in an effort to put as much distance between herself and her mother as possible. She reached her car and slid behind the wheel, bumping her knee in haste, but not feeling the pain. Blindly, she fumbled with the key, finally shoving it into the ignition. Then she was moving. She was about two miles away when she couldn't hold the nausea at bay any longer. There on the side of CA-1 Sara stopped the car and threw up in the ditch. Tears streamed down her face as she knelt on the cold ground, her body slumped down with the unbelievable weight of her past.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks so very much to LiT who has listened to me whine my way through this chapter and to the lovely women who beta this mess. It wouldn't be half of what it is without them.

Disclaimer: If they were mine do you think I'd be writing fanfic?

**Chapter 7**

**December 14, 2007**

The determined glint in Catherine's eye told Grissom she didn't intend to let him forget about breakfast with the team. She strode into his office, sank into a chair, crossed her legs and stared at him until he raised his head to acknowledge her.

"What can I do for you, Catherine?" Grissom looked at her from over the top of his glasses and hoped that he could feign ignorance.

She gave a snort of laughter. "You will never convince me that you forgot our plans. Give it up."

He schooled his features into a blank mask. "I'm not trying to convince you of anything. And if you mean breakfast," he gestured at the stacks of paperwork that covered his desk, "I really don't have time."

"You hate paperwork, Gil." Catherine smiled at his discomfort. "Stop trying to weasel out of this."

Grissom's eyebrow rose and he nailed her with a glare. "I do not weasel," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. When she only continued to smile, he sighed heavily. "Fine. I'll be there. Now will you leave me alone?"

With a shake of her head, she pushed out of the chair. "Seven-thirty. Don't be late." She left him sitting behind his desk with his head bent over a report.

CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI

Paperwork was, without a doubt, the bane of Gil Grissom's existence. Even Hodges and Greg combined were not nearly as trying, or tiring as the reports and requests and evaluations he was required to complete on a daily basis. He was positive that half of the trees felled in America every year were used to make paper for the LVPD.

A deep sigh escaped him as he closed another file and placed it on the stack in his outbox. Slowly, he removed his glasses and tossed them on his desk. Leaning back in his chair he rubbed his burning eyes. The only good thing about all the doubles he was working was that he had managed to stay even with his supervisory responsibilities, no matter how tedious he found them. Today they were more annoying than normal, because he couldn't keep his mind focused on the work in front of him. And it wasn't because he was thinking of Sara. Instead, his thoughts were on the phone calls he had made earlier in the week to the husbands of the four dead women from St. Rose.

To say that he was disappointed by the reactions he received would have been an understatement. To a man, they all declined to entertain the idea of foul play. Actually, one of the men hung up on him the moment he mentioned his reason for calling. He tried to put himself in their shoes but it wasn't easy. While his pain at Sara's departure consumed him, he held on to the hope that she would someday return. These men no longer had that hope. They had nothing. Instead, their worlds decimated by grief, they struggled to gain control of their once orderly lives. But while he couldn't bring back the hope they had lost, he could bring them justice.

A quick glance at his watch revealed that it was three-thirty in the morning. Studying the mess on his desk for a moment, Grissom pushed up out of the chair and grabbed his keys. He had just enough time to get out to Henderson, talk to the nurses at St. Rose and still meet the team for breakfast. With determination in his stride, he headed for his car.

He paused at the reception desk. "Hey, Judy." He smiled when she looked up. "I'll be in the field if anyone is looking for me."

Giving him a nervous grin, Judy replied, "Yes, sir." He nodded and turned away. He had only gotten about four steps away when she called out, "Dr. Grissom?"

Turning, he raised an eyebrow in question.

Judy's face was a startling crimson, and her voice came out with a nervous squeak. "Uh, how is…how is Sara, sir?"

The flicker of pain in his eyes was so brief that it could have almost been imagined. He cleared his throat before saying, "She's doing well, Judy. Thank you for asking."

Nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Judy said, "Please tell her I asked about her, sir."

"I'll do that." Grissom gave her a smile and a nod before turning and heading to his car.

The irony of his situation struck Grissom as he drove toward Henderson. Before, when nobody knew about his relationship with Sara, he saw her every day. He knew, or thought he did, when she was having a bad day or feeling especially playful. And nobody asked him how she was. Now, when she was six hundred miles away and he didn't know anything about how she was feeling, everybody looked to him for information. If it hadn't made him so sad, he might have laughed.

His musings were interrupted by the grumbling of his stomach. Quickly he searched his memory for the last time he had eaten and was surprised to realize it had been almost twenty hours since his last meal. Knowing he couldn't wait another four hours before he had something to eat, he started looking for a drive thru. Noticing a Dunkin' Donuts up ahead he decided to pull in. He drove up to the speaker and studied the menu before placing his order. As he began to pull forward to pick up his coffee and donuts he caught sight of a familiar car parked behind the building.

He considered parking and going inside when he saw two people exiting the building and crossing the lot. Neither of them noticed him. That was probably due to them being completely focused on one another.

Easing around to the pick-up window, he tried to keep his face averted. But he couldn't stop himself from looking at them in the rearview mirror. Even if he hadn't seen their faces, he would have known both of them anywhere. Jim Brass and Heather Kessler were currently standing comfortably close, beside what he assumed was Heather's car. And from the looks of things, this wasn't an accidental meeting. Unable to tear his eyes away from the couple behind him, Grissom didn't avert his gaze until Heather leaned in and pressed her lips to Jim's.

Suddenly, Jim's desire to protect the identity of his new girlfriend made much more sense.

Grissom pulled away from the window and a quiet chuckle escaped him. He had hidden his relationship with Sara out of fear of repercussions. He wouldn't want to be in Brass' shoes if news of this little indiscretion ever got out. Despite Heather's reasons, she had been convicted for nearly whipping a man to death. Of course, Grissom hadn't worried about the consequences when he had gone to her, out of friendship, when he thought she needed him. With a start, he wondered if that had been Jim's place even then.

He drove the few remaining blocks to the hospital sipping from the cup of coffee. When he took the first sinful bite of cruller, he thought about how Sara would shake her head and roll her eyes at his choice. She wouldn't say anything about his cholesterol or the few extra pounds around his middle. But she wouldn't have to say a word. He'd know just what she was thinking. With a smile of guilty pleasure and a vow to eat oatmeal at breakfast, he polished off both doughnuts in the ten minute ride.

Grissom pulled into a parking place and studied the building. Despite the name, which brought to mind a soaring stone edifice and stained glass windows, the hospital was ultra modern. The shape was boxy and impersonal with a lot of concrete and glass. Not sure why he had expected anything else in this day and age, Grissom gave a snort of laughter at his own folly. Taking a final sip of coffee, he picked up the file and his notebook from the passenger's seat and climbed out of the car before heading to the hospital entrance.

It took some careful explaining to get past the security guard in the lobby. While he was sure that if he was a patient he'd have been grateful for the way the rent-a-cop interrogated middle of the night visitors, at that moment he was more than a little irritated with the man. Finally gaining entrance to the hospital proper, Grissom took the elevator to the fifth floor.

The car stopped with a muted ding and the doors slid open. Grissom stepped out and glanced up and down the hallway, looking for the nurses' station. Spying the counter off on his right, he turned and walked in that direction, only to be stopped by a woman in burgundy scrubs exiting a room on his left.

Jumping back to keep from bumping in to her, Grissom said, "Excuse me."

Her hand flew up to cover her heart and she gave a yelp of surprise. "Where did you come from?" she gasped.

"The elevator," Grissom said, with a smile in his voice.

She was a short, curvy red head with brilliant green eyes and a warm smile. "Very funny, Mr…."

"Grissom." He stuck out his hand and said, "Gil Grissom. Las Vegas Crime Lab."

She clasped his hand with a firm grip and gave him a smile. She looked up at him through her lashes and said, "I'm Julia. How can I help you, Gil Grissom?"

As he extricated his hand, it vaguely registered with Grissom that she might be flirting with him, but he quickly brushed the thought aside. "I need to see the charge nurse."

Julia's smile faded a little and she gestured toward the nurses' station. "That would be Elizabeth. She should be at the desk. If not, someone there should be able to help you."

With a slight dip of his head, Grissom thanked her before moving off. He didn't see the long, appreciative look she gave to his retreating back.

There was a woman on the phone at the desk and her name tag read E. Bethune. Grissom stood by, waiting patiently for her to finish the call. He glanced up and down the hall, noting the distance to the stairwells. The corridor took a ninety degree turn at both ends; continuing past the stairwell doors and hiding some rooms from view. With the nurses' station recessed between patient rooms the view to the ends of the main hall would be non-existent. Just seeing the way the floor was laid out gave Grissom an idea of how the crimes might be possible.

**CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI**

_It has been six days since I rescued Emily. Six days and too many souls still in need to count. I never thought that the need to help others transcend their suffering would be so strong. Logically, I know if I help too many people others will become suspicious. But the desire to do good, to free these women from their diseased bodies, is so hard to resist. Yet resist I must, or run the risk of being unable to help anyone ever again._

_I'm not on the schedule today, but I still have rounds to make so I set my alarm to get up at four. Renee murmurs in her sleep as I ease from the bed. By the time I am dressed, she has shifted and is sprawled across the mattress, my pillow clutched to her chest. The moonlight through the window lights her face and she glows. I feel her beauty in the center of my chest. She's still everything I ever dreamed of. With a gentle kiss to her temple and a whispered I love you, I leave her to her dreams._

_The streets are quiet and I make the twenty mile trip in just under the same number of minutes. I know the stops and starts, the turns by heart. And I allow my mind to wander while my car takes me to the hospital. My mind's eye shows me a montage of the rescued ones. Each of them is special to me. Their faces, their voices, their eyes all tell a story of pain and suffering. And I am filled with pride and a sense of accomplishment that being a doctor never gave me._

_I enter the hospital through the emergency room. There is a physician's entrance, but I would have to swipe a card and I'm sure that information is recorded somewhere. There is no purpose in leaving a trail that can be so easily followed. I nod at the nurses and ER docs as I traverse the labyrinth of curtained off treatment areas. As usual, the place is a beehive of activity and no one bothers to ask what I'm doing. Chances are, five minutes after I'm gone, they won't even remember that I was there._

_I make my rounds, checking on my patients from yesterday. I read over their charts, making sure their vitals look normal. I chat with the few nurses that are in the halls. I want to make sure I stick to my established routine. I work my way from bottom to top, taking the stairs; again, to establish a pattern. When I pull open the door from the stairwell that leads to the fifth floor, I see an unfamiliar man standing in front of the nurses' station chatting with Elizabeth. I hesitate before stepping out into the hall._


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Not mine. Cause this would never have happened.

A/N: A very special thank you to all the wonderful ladies who have taken the time to help with this. I truly appreciate it. This chapter also mention abuse and child molestation. Non-graphic but it is there.

**Chapter 8**

**December 13, 2007**

Sara wasn't sure how long she knelt there in the grass beside the road with rocks bruising her knees and shins. It could have been minutes or it could have been days. The tears that ran down her cheeks and dropped onto her denim covered thighs were hot, leaving burning tracks on the smooth skin of her face. Sobs racked her slender frame. The passing vehicles threw off gusts of wind and grit which whirled around the car and buffeted her body. In the small corner of her mind that was focused on the here and now, Sara was glad she had made it to the far side of the car before succumbing to the nausea. At least she was hidden from the prying eyes of people on the road. Hopefully, they would think the vehicle was abandoned and no one would stop to witness her humiliation.

Kneeling there on the side of the road she was still surrounded by him. She could feel his calloused hands as the tore her clothes and pawed at her tender skin. She could smell stench of sweat; the sweat of old booze and fear. She could taste the blood from biting her lip to keep from screaming. She remembered how he shoved his tongue into her mouth, making her gag. She was there, in that pink bedroom with the flowered bedspread. And she hated it. She hated the man and the memory and, most of all, herself. Twenty years of running and hiding and denying and it all came down to losing control on the side of the road. Another wave of nausea washed over her and she retched, bile burning her throat, but anything was better than the taste fresh blood and stale cigarettes.

Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she tilted her head back and tried to block out the unpleasantness of the memories. With her eyes closed, she concentrated on the play of light against her eyelids. Long minutes later, she stood on trembling legs and made her way to the driver's door of the car. Sara slid behind the wheel and sat there shivering. She couldn't remember a time when she had ever been so cold or so alone. Not just physically but emotionally. She was sure that her very soul was frozen.

Eventually, she put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road. As she drove she tried to keep her mind clear. She concentrated on the road and the simple familiarity of driving. When a memory would start to rear its ugly head, she would force it out – ruthlessly focusing on her immediate surroundings. Nothing mattered except getting back to the cottage.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Laura stood on the front porch and watched as Sara's car disappeared from view. She had never meant to let it get this far. The shock at seeing her daughter again after so many years had given way to panic. What could she possibly say to explain anything? To make any of it better? She was just a woman and a damaged one at that. The years spent in the system hadn't been kind, and all she wanted was to live out the rest of her days in peace.

Hugging herself against the bite in the air, she fought back the emotions rising within her. The need to comfort Sara was almost more than she could bear. But who would be there to comfort her? Who had ever been there to comfort her? She chose to ignore the images of a chubby little girl with a gap-toothed smile who always believed her when she said that Daddy wouldn't hit them anymore. She closed her eyes against the memories of the serious, dark haired child who somehow managed to remain hopeful and loving in a house ruled by fear and pain.

With a muttered curse, Laura went back into the house. She refused to be drawn into the drama in her daughter's life. Seriously, she'd had enough drama to last her a lifetime. Sara just needed to realize that nothing was the same, could be the same, after everything that had happened. She needed to let go of the past and go home to that Grissom she talked so much about. Nothing that had happened then could possibly make any difference. Could it?

She had thought that by pretending to play along with Sara's question and answer game she could wait her out. Apparently, that wasn't meant to be. The girl was nothing, if not tenacious. Moving through the house, again, Laura remembered how Sara had looked before she bolted. Her face had been chalk white, bordering on green; almost as if she were going to be sick. Maybe a good mother would have chased her across the yard and begged her not to go. Maybe a good mother would have held her and wiped away her tears. But Laura had never claimed to be a good mother. She had tried, sometimes, and failed. Had the girl forgotten that, too? Shaking her head as if to clear it; Laura grabbed her coat, a blanket and a pack of cigarettes from her room and went out through the back door.

There was a gazebo in the yard that had a swing. She loved to sit there in the afternoons when all the rooms were clean and the house empty. After so many years locked away in prison the freedom to walk outside whenever she wanted was something she never took for granted. But today she couldn't find any peace in the crisp air, or the brilliant sunlight, or the call of the birds. For just a minute, she thought about what it would feel like to have a drink.

Laura's eyes slid closed and she smelled the bittersweet tang of the bourbon she had loved. It was a heady thing and she almost moaned at the memory of it. She could feel the cool glass between her fingers, feel it as it pressed against her lips. Then she was drinking. The burn of it flowed over her tongue and down her throat, lighting a fire in her stomach that quickly spread outward in a warm glow. Her muscles relaxed, tension giving way to the peacefulness she could only find in the bottom of a bottle. She sat perfectly still for a long moment, holding the memory close to her.

Slowly, her eyes slid open and she reached for her cigarettes. With trembling fingers, she managed to shake one out of the pack and bring it to her lips. Lighting it, she drew the smoke deep into her lungs and held it there, relishing the calming effect of the nicotine moving through her bloodstream.

Laura was amazed at how real her fantasy drink had felt. In the years that she had been without a drink she hadn't really missed it. It was as if her desire for the numbing effects of alcohol died when Mike did. She just didn't need it anymore.

Honestly, she didn't remember a lot about those first weeks. That was the time she referred to as _the silence_. There were just brief flashes of doctors and nurses and doors with reinforced windows. There were mumbled words – _catatonic state, murder, battered wife syndrome, schizophrenic_. She heard them, but couldn't seem to summon the energy to worry about it, to tell them she wasn't crazy, to tell them what he had done to her baby.

What she thought about instead, during the silence, were the good things. She remembered the day Mike asked her out for the first time. He was so handsome with his curly dark hair and hazel eyes. Tall and lean, with a wicked sense of humor, he was every one of her sixteen year old fantasies all rolled up in one incredibly irresistible package.

He wooed her. There just wasn't another word for it. Flowers and soft kisses and holding hands. Parties and movies and make out sessions in the backseat of his '57 Chevy. God, how she had loved that boy. If he sometimes got angry for no reason, if he yelled or shook her a little, it was a small price to pay for his attention. Besides, he always said he was sorry afterwards and she always, always believed him.

Oh, the plans they'd made; the things they were going to do and places they were going to see, the fun they were going to have. They planned for months to move, to leave their families behind and go west. Two days after her graduation from high school, they packed their meager belongings in the trunk of the car, cleaned out Mike's savings account and took off. Laura left her mother sobbing in the formal living room of the house where she had grown up. Mike left his home and nobody noticed.

They got married in Las Vegas. With a mirthless laugh, Laura thought about the irony and all that it entailed. They stopped in San Francisco because they ran out of highway. They couldn't have gone any further even if they'd wanted to. They rented an apartment in a rundown building on the outskirts of the city and furnished it with other people's castoffs. The year was 1963.

The lack of light suddenly registered to her and Laura looked around in surprise. She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting in the swing, but she realized that she was freezing. With a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet and gathered her things. She would go in and make some coffee. Then, when she was a little warmer, she would call Sara. It was time to put an end to this nonsense.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Sara stumbled through the door of the cottage and locked it behind her. She was weak and still a little queasy. Her head throbbed with every beat of her heart. She kicked off her shoes and dropped her coat and purse on the little dining table. Wandering into the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet, avoiding her reflection in the mirrored door, and pulled out the bottle of ibuprofen. For a second she wondered when she had become so comfortable here that she had moved her supplies out of her suitcase and into the medicine cabinet. The pounding in her head made it impossible for her to follow that train of thought for very long. She just needed something for her headache and she'd be fine. Her hands shook as the wrestled with the childproof cap.

"Fuck!" she screamed in frustration. Finally, she forced the cap off only to have it drop into the sink and rattle around; the sound grating on her already frazzled nerves.

She shook the bottle over her outstretched palm and at least ten of the oblong brown tablets come out at once. With another muttered curse, she slammed the bottle down on the counter and dumped all but three of the tablets into the trash. Heading back to the kitchen, with her pills clutched safely in her left hand, Sara filled a glass with tap water and swallowed them in one gulp. Habit had her placing the glass in the sink before she moved over to the sofa and lay down, covering up with the blanket draped over the back.

The house was so quiet. She had never realized how quiet it was here. There was no noise from the constant traffic and the crowds of people. For a second she missed the sounds of Las Vegas, simply because they helped cover up the memories. She was tired. So very tired. And so incredibly alone. She huddled, shivering under the blanket, closed her eyes, and begged for peace. Slowly, she drifted into a restless sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Not mine - Still

A/N: I am a very fortunate girl. I have the best group of beta's on this planet. A special thank you to each and every one of them for all they have contributed. This would be a useless bunch of words without them. :D

**Chapter 9**

**December 15, 2007**

E. Bethune was a heavyset woman with very short hair which had been dyed the black of shoe polish. She had thin lips that all but disappeared into her fleshy face. Her florid complexion was devoid of makeup and her gray eyes were deep set and dull. Ms. Bethune hung up the phone and Grissom pasted on his friendliest smile as she turned her annoyed gaze on him. When she merely stared at him without a word, he cleared his throat and introduced himself.

"Hi. I'm Gil Grissom with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I need to speak with the charge nurse, please." Grissom tried to keep his tone pleasant as he addressed the woman.

"That'd be me," she snapped. "How'd you get up here?"

Drawing in a steadying breath, Grissom contemplated using the elevator line again. One look at her humorless expression convinced him it would be pointless. "I need to ask you a few questions."

Elizabeth glanced at her watch and then looked back up at Grissom. "It's almost end of shift. I have a lot to get done. What did you need?"

"Elizabeth, may I call you Elizabeth?" At her nod, he continued, "I just wanted to talk to you about some of your patients."

"Which patients?" Again she glanced at her watch and then stared at him pointedly.

Up until this point, Grissom hadn't thought about how he was going to ask these questions without making the woman think he was accusing her of something. Throwing caution to the wind, he decided to be blunt. "It has come to my attention that you have had several unexplained deaths at this hospital over the past six weeks. All of them on this floor."

Immediately her hackles rose. Pushing herself out of the chair she was occupying, Elizabeth stood tall and met his eyes. "What are you implying, Mr. Grissom?"

Holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender, Grissom took a step back from her fury. "I'm not implying anything. I merely want to find out what happened to those women."

Indignation poured off her in waves as she walked around the desk to stand in front of him. "Nothing _happened_ to them."

"Look, all of the women were twelve to thirty-six hours post-op." He reeled off the facts emotionlessly. "All of them had a hysterectomy due to cervical or uterine cancer. All of them were Caucasian, between the ages of thirty-five and forty-five." Grissom paused for a moment, his ice blue eyes boring into her. "That's a little too much coincidence for my peace of mind."

"The fact that those women died is horrible." For a moment her eyes softened and she slumped a little under the weight of those lives and her responsibility for them. Then, drawing herself up to her, she continued, "But I can promise you that no one on this shift has any idea what happened. Didn't _your_ medical examiner determine that they died of natural causes?" The woman's jowls quivered with the force of her words.

His brow furrowed in annoyance and his words were clipped. "Actually, he's the one who brought this to my attention." She merely stared at him, her disbelief obvious. "He seems to find it odd that these apparently healty women are dropping dead."

She planted her hands on her hips and gave him a scathing look. "Obviously, Mr. Grissom, if they had been healthy they wouldn't have been here."

Grissom dipped his head in acknowledgment of the truth in her statement. "Touché."

The corner of Elizabeth's mouth twitched, but she managed to suppress her grin. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

"I appreciate that." At her look of skepticism, he repeated, "I do. I just need a few answers and then I'll get out of your way."

Huffing out a frustrated breath, she crossed her arms over her substantial bosom and nodded. "Fine."

"Thank you." Now his voice became softer, even a little seductive. "I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the hours before the women were discovered. Nothing is too small or insignificant. Anybody on the floor that shouldn't have been?"

Nailing him with a cutting glance, she shook her head. "You mean like you?"

Once again she had cut him off at the knees. Obviously, she was one book he shouldn't judge by its cover. "Yes. Like me."

"Honestly, no." She brought a hand up to rub across her eyes. "It's very quiet here at night. That's why I like it. You're our first visitor, aside from the usual distraught family member, in months."

"These distraught family members? Who are they?" He gave her a ghost of a smile, encouraging her to keep talking.

Meeting his gaze, she shrugged. "Husbands, mothers, daughters. The usual. But they tend to stay in their loved-one's room. And that's only for a night or two."

Nodding thoughtfully, Grissom asked, "No one else? No maintenance people, orderlies, doctors?" His mind drifted to Natalie and Sara for a moment, but he pulled it back ruthlessly.

"I'm not sure what you're looking for, Mr. Grissom. This is a hospital."

Grissom ran a hand through his hair, his frustration rising at a rapid rate. "I know it's a hospital, but I also know that sometimes we tend to overlook the people we see every day. I was just hoping that something stood out."

"No. Nothing." Suddenly, her gaze locked on something over Grissom's shoulder. She broke into a beatific smile. "Here's Dr. Rosenthal. Maybe you should ask him your questions.

Grissom turned just in time to see the stairwell door close behind a man in dark blue scrubs and a bright white lab coat.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

…_When I pull open the door from the stairwell that leads to the fifth floor, I see an unfamiliar man standing in front of the nurses' station chatting with Elizabeth. I hesitate before stepping out into the hall…_

_Elizabeth Bethune, fifth floor charge nurse, is very possibly one of the laziest people I've ever met. She is one of the reasons I chose this particular floor for my work. According to the nurses who work for her, she has the disposition of a rabid skunk. She is fat and sluggish, moving through life like molasses in winter. The mere sight of her makes me feel a little nauseous. The fact that she looks at me like I would imagine she stares at a rare steak is enough to make me avoid her at all costs. _

_Elizabeth says something to him, giving me that moony smile of hers, and the man turns. I can feel his gaze like a physical touch. Maybe it is the fact that he isn't supposed to be here at this time of night that has me so out of sorts. Maybe it is the way he is looking at me. Regardless, I am unnerved by him._

_He gestures and Elizabeth leads him along the hall in my direction. My steps falter a bit when I realize I am wearing gloves. Nothing can be done about it now. Hopefully, he won't notice. If he does I will explain it away as having forgotten to remove them. As the two come closer, I get the feeling I've seen him somewhere before. I can't help but stare at him._

_Before I realize it, they are standing before me. Elizabeth is still smiling at me with that same sappy expression. I cringe at the naked adoration in her eyes. I am so consumed with disgust at the sight of her that I almost miss what she's saying._

"…_man is with the crime lab. He was asking me some questions." Her voice grates across my nerves like fingernails on a chalk board._

"_Dr. Gil Grissom." he says in a well-modulated voice._

_I recognize his name immediately. In an effort to conceal my nervousness, I extend my hand and reply, "Dr. Malachi Rosenthal." When he doesn't return the gesture, I look down and pretend to be surprised by the glove. There is something in Dr. Grissom's eyes as he stares at my latex covered hand. I'm not sure what it is and it is gone almost as quickly as it appeared. "Oh, sorry. I forgot to take them off."_

_He pins me with his eyes and I feel the cold finger of fear skitter along my spine. "No problem. I'd just like to ask you a few questions."_

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The doctor was tall, well over six feet, and trim. He was attractive as far as men went, with a square jaw and prominent cheekbones. His lips were full, bordering on feminine, his hair was dark and thick and curly. He had dark brown eyes that had been known to make women swoon. But there was something about those eyes that didn't match the rest of him. They were cold and…lifeless.

Grissom didn't normally resort to the use of the title. He'd always thought it seemed a little pretentious and he preferred to demonstrate his intelligence rather than brag about it. But for some reason he couldn't quite explain Dr. Rosenthal had caused that tickle on the back of Grissom's neck.

"Do you mind if I ask what your doctorate is in?" Malachi asked, in an effort to give himself time to calm his nerves.

Grissom's voice betrayed his annoyance. "Biology." His eyes never left the other man's face. "Is that important?"

Malachi shrugged. "I suppose not. I just wanted to understand if you were a medical doctor or a...," his voice trailed off and he waved a hand dismissively.

Grissom's right eyebrow slid up and he studied the man like a specimen. "I have a PhD in Biology from UCLA." His cool tone matched his demeanor. "Now that we've established that I'm not a medical doctor can you answer some questions for me?"

Maybe it was something about the way the good doctor looked at Elizabeth Bethune, as if she were sub-human that made Grissom's hackles rise. Maybe it was the flicker of recognition in his eyes when he heard Grissom's name. Maybe it was the latex gloves that he couldn't quite explain away. No matter the reason, the fact remained that something about Malachi Rosenthal made Grissom want to know more about him.

"What can I do for you Mr. Grissom?" Malachi smiled as he peeled off the gloves and shoved them in the pocket of his lab coat.

"As I explained to Elizabeth, I'm here regarding four deaths over the past six weeks." Grissom studied the man carefully as he spoke. "The women were all in-patient here at the time of their deaths."

"Ah, yes." Dr. Rosenthal's eyes moved from Grissom to Elizabeth and back. "I've heard about them, of course. Everyone here has." Shaking his head he continued, "But those women died of natural causes. Didn't they?"

Grissom gave a self-deprecating shrug. "Actually, I'm not positive they did. There are just too many similarities to be written off as mere coincidence."

"Well, I'll be glad to help in any way I can." His gaze moved to Elizabeth. "Is there any of your wonderful coffee left, Liz?"

She blushed and all but simpered, "I'm sure there is. And, if not I can make some."

Malachi shook his head and gave her a boyish grin. "I don't want you to go to any trouble. We'll just walk down there and see. I'm sure Dr. Grissom would like a cup."

Grissom saw the ploy for exactly what it was; a way to buy time, but he followed along. "That would be good, if it's no trouble."

Moving down the hall without waiting for them to follow, Malachi assured, "It's no trouble at all. Besides, Liz makes the best coffee in the whole hospital."

When the men were in the small break area behind the nurses' station, coffee cups in hand, Grissom studied the other man before speaking. "So, I asked Elizabeth about seeing people on the floor who shouldn't have been here. It seems that you come in either very early or very late. Do you remember seeing anyone who was out of place?"

His eyes lost their focus as he dug through his memory. Finally, Malachi met Grissom's gaze. "No," he shook his head, "Not that I can think of."

Grissom watched the man carefully, looking for any sign of a crack in the façade. "How about orderlies, janitors? It doesn't have to be someone from outside the hospital."

"Mr. Grissom, I'm afraid that would be an impossible task. This place employs over three hundred people, not including the physicians on staff." He barked out a laugh at the enormity of such a task.

There was something about that sound, coupled with Grissom's hyper-awareness of the young man, that had his pulse rising and his temper flaring. "You may find this amusing, _Doctor_, but there are four dead women that didn't have to die. Every one of them died here, in this hospital, on this floor." Grissom words were cold but his eyes shot blue fire.

Taking a step back, Malachi shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers closing around the syringe hidden there. Realizing too late that he could draw the man's attention there, he casually moved his hands up to tug at the ends of the stethoscope draped around his nekc. "I didn't mean to imply that I find this humorous. It's a nervous habit." The moment the words left his mouth, he wished that he could retract them. He watched as Grissom absorbed them and filed them away.

Grissom's mouth tilted up in a smirk and his eyes held the glitter of a promise. "Thank you for your time, doctor. I don't want to keep you but I _will_ be back." Turning on his heel, he strode to the elevator and punched viciously at the button. Silently he made Dr. Rosenthal a promise. I_f I find one thing, just one thing, pointing to foul play I won't stop until I find out who is responsible._

He didn't notice the thoughtful look Dr. Rosenthal was giving him or the way Elizabeth Bethune watched Malachi with fierce protectiveness.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"Can't sleep?" Heather's warm breath slid over his skin and he sighed.

"I'm worried about Gil." His voice rough with sleep, Jim spoke softly.

"Mmmmmmmm," she pressed her lips against his chest. "He's not handling Sara's departure well?" Her voice was quiet as if she were afraid to break the spell of the moment.

A soft chuff of laughter escaped him. He slid his hand up and down her arm and pulled her tighter to his side. "That's an understatement. He plays it well but I know he's barely hanging on."

"Do you think I should try to talk to him?" She felt him tense against her and sighed. "Jim, don't."

He placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Sorry." With a sigh he continued, "I don't know if it would help. He won't talk to me or Catherine. I'm not sure he would talk to you. Besides, how would you explain it?"

Heather thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. But after what he did for me, I feel like I should try."

"Yeah, he's a good guy. But this has him twisted in knots." He yawned and then gave a chuckle. "Not that I don't understand. I know I'd be a total mess without you."

"Really now?" Rising up on her elbow, Heather smiled before silencing him with a kiss.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I say this all the time but it's so very true - I have the greatest betas in the world. Thanks so much to Cropper, LosinginTranslation, Mingsmommy and Superlibn. They are incredible - and they like to torment me.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. Oh well.

**Chapter 10**

**December 15, 2007**

Other than the occasional trip to the bathroom or to the kitchen for water or an apple, Sara hadn't moved in two days. Her hair was greasy and plastered to her head. Her teeth felt like they had grown fur. And she was beginning to think she probably smelled like the inside of Greg's apartment. She knew she needed to pull herself together but she couldn't seem to find the energy to care.

An insistent pounding on the door dragged Sara from the questionable joy of Jerry Springer. She never really intended to watch the show but once it started she found that she was unable to turn it off. Kind of like a train wreck; she hated to see it but couldn't make herself look away.

"Go away," she mumbled to whoever was creating so much noise. Either they didn't hear or chose not to comply because the racket continued. Sighing, she threw off the blanket and pushed to her feet.

A wave of dizziness washed over her and she honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything substantial. She waited for the room to right itself before beginning to move toward the door. Ruefully, she tugged at her pajama pants when they began to slide off her hips.

Her irritation turned to cold, hard anger when she opened the door to find Laura on the other side. "What are you doing here?" she bit out, one hand on the doorknob and the other on her hip.

Laura's eyes moved over Sara from head to toe. "You look like shit." When Sara's mouth dropped open in disbelief, Laura added, "And you stink."

A flush of embarrassment colored Sara's cheeks. "I didn't ask you to come here." She crossed her arms defensively and took a step back. "You can always leave."

Holding a bag in one hand and a ratty, dusty shoe box in the other, Laura pushed past her daughter and into the tiny kitchen. "You need to take a shower. I'll make us some lunch."

Sara crossed her arms over her chest and thrust out her chin. "You have a lot of nerve just showing up…"

Laura cut her off quickly. "Stop it, Sara. Just stop it." She set the bag and box on the counter and turned to face the younger woman. "I'm here to give you what you want. Just go take a shower." She sounded tired, as if she were resigned to her fate. Turning away she began unloading the bag she had brought.

Shock had Sara rooted to the spot. Her desire to know about her past warred with her longing to show her mother the door. Finally, she stomped off to the bathroom, shooting back over her shoulder, "I'm a vegetarian," before slamming the door.

Laura smiled and set about preparing the food she had brought.

Sara started the shower before stripping off her clothes. When the water had heated she stepped in, moaning at the heat against her cool skin. She stood there for a long while, allowing the steam to help clear her mind. As the warm water sluiced over her aching body, Sara wondered at her own sanity. She had all but decided to give up this madness. Yet, here she was, preparing to return to the fray. Resolutely, she lathered her hair, scrubbing away the indecision of the past two days along with the oil and smell that she had accumulated.

Sara emerged from the back of the house thirty minutes later, showered and dressed with her damp hair in a ponytail, feeling almost human for the first time since she'd left her mother's. She was greeted by the delicious aroma of baking bread. She pulled out a chair at the small dining table and sat down, eyeing Laura warily.

"It smells good." Sara blushed as her stomach grumbled in a testament to her words. "What is it?"

"Potato soup." Laura checked on the bread. "I love it, but it's hard to cook for just one. So I freeze it." Moving to the refrigerator, she pulled out a pack of shredded cheese. "I usually put bacon and cheese on top. Since bacon is out of the question, we'll use extra cheese." Turning to face Sara, she took in the gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes. "I made some coffee, too. You want a cup now?"

"I'll get it." Sara stood and moved into the kitchen, pulling down cups. "How do you take it?" She poured coffee into the two mugs and began stirring sugar into hers.

Laura turned with a smile of thanks. "Black is fine."

Sara picked up her cup, leaving her mother's on the counter for her, and moved back over to sit at the table. The silence between them stretched out, every second making Sara more anxious. Laura was pulling the rolls from the oven when Sara could take it no longer.

"Why did you come here?" Sara took a quick sip of the almost too hot brew and grimaced as it slid down her throat.

Giving a chuckle, Laura shook her head. "You never had any patience. Apparently, some things haven't changed." She put the bread in a basket she had found in a cabinet and began to ladle the soup into bowls. "Come over here and give me a hand." Seeing the look Sara was giving her, Laura once again shook her head at her daughter's impatience. "Let's eat and then we'll talk."

Sara's sigh of frustration was her only response as she stood and moved to help Laura with the bowls.

A short time later, the dishes were stacked in the sink and the two women were settled on the couch in front of the fire Sara had built. Laura had brought the box over and placed it on the coffee table. Sara was curled into a corner of the sofa with her legs drawn up while Laura sat stiffly beside her, feet firmly on the floor.

Heaving out a sigh that bordered on a groan, Laura ran her hands up and down her thighs. "Okay. I guess the best place to start is at the beginning."

Sara gave her a nervous grin. "That would probably be good."

Laura reached out and picked up the box, placing it on her lap. Lifting off the lid, she gazed down at the contents. Her voice was subdued and her hands trembled a little. "I haven't talked about this stuff in a very long time. I've tried to not think about a lot of it. Things weren't supposed to turn out like they did. You should know that."

She turned to see Sara shaking her head. "I don't know that. But I need to. I need to understand."

Nodding, Laura reached into the box and pulled out a picture. She studied it a moment before passing it to Sara. A wistful smile spread over her face. "We were happy once. I don't want you to think we were always like…like the end."

The black and white photo showed her parents, both of them impossibly young, with their arms around each other. They were smiling at the camera. Sara could almost feel their happiness just by holding the picture. She looked at her mother, her confusion evident. "So what happened?"

"Be patient, Sara. Let me tell this." Laura smiled to soften her words. "He was so handsome and so…so sure of himself." She reached into the box again and this time came out with a stack of photos. "He made me think anything was possible."

Laura shuffled through the pictures, taking a moment to look at each one. "Have you ever felt that way, Sara?" She looked up and watched the emotions play over Sara's face.

Her first thought was, _Gil makes me feel that way. Like we can do anything as long as we do it together. _Biting her lip and fighting against the sudden rush of tears, Sara nodded. "Yes," she murmured in a choked voice.

"Then you understand." Laura wondered yet again what demons had forced her daughter to leave a man she so obviously loved. And what demons kept him from coming after her.

Sara held out her hand and Laura placed the pictures in it. "You were so beautiful. Both of you." Studying her mother, Sara continued, "I never thought of you that way."

"By the time you were old enough to remember, we weren't so beautiful anymore."

Sara cleared her throat and swiped at damp eyes. "Tell me about him, about the two of you."

Laura handed Sara the box, watching her daughter as she picked through the only tangible links to her past. It may have looked like a beat up old box but it contained everything she had saved from her life before that day. Almost all of the photos were of Laura and Mike; a few were color pictures but most, as dictated by the times, were black and white. The yellowing and the curled edges bespoke their age. She didn't realized how nervous she would be to see Sara looking through them. In an effort to relax, she picked up her coffee cup and settled back against the cushions. She took a fortifying sip, cradling the mug between her hands, and began to speak.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Grissom hadn't heard from Sara in five days and he was beginning to worry. They had fallen into a rhythm of talking every two or three days. She would usually call him after the meetings with her mother. But that last meeting was supposed to be two days ago and not a word. His hand hovered over the phone lying on the arm of the couch. He had picked it up and put it down too many times to count in the last hour. She had told him to call but he hesitated to cross that line for fear of pushing her further away. So far she had been the one to initiate their contact. Then he remembered his promise to himself earlier in the week. Change meant taking risks. With a determined glint in his eye, he picked up the phone and dialed Sara's number.

Just before he pressed the button to send the call there was a quiet knock at his door. Flipping the phone closed, he muttered a curse and pushed up off the couch. Hank raised his head from his spot under the coffee table and chuffed out a soft bark.

"Some guard dog you are." Grissom shot the dog a look and would have sworn the beast rolled his eyes. He reached the door, pulled it open and his mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Hello, Grissom." Heather smiled at his shock. "May I come in?"

Regaining his composure, he stepped back and gestured her inside. "Please."

She removed her sunglasses, piercing him with her brilliant green eyes. At that moment, Hank trotted toward them to investigate the new arrival and instinctively Heather recoiled. "Hank, sit," Grissom commanded and walked over to pet the dog's head when he obeyed. "Good boy," he murmured scratching under his chin. He used the distraction of Hank's appearance to gather his thoughts.

Heather waited patiently, seeing through his ploy but allowing him to take a minute. When he straightened up she studied him. He looked haggard; tired and thin and pale. "How are you, Grissom?"

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Grissom cocked his head and watched her. "Did Jim send you?"

Now it was her turn to be surprised. If Grissom hadn't been watching her so closely, hadn't had so much practice reading people, he might have missed the slight widening of her eyes and the parting of her lips. She quickly slipped her mask back in place. "Why would you think that?"

"Speaking from experience, your powers of discretion are somewhat lacking," he chided. When she merely studied him, a smile tugged at Grissom's mouth. "I saw the two of you out in Henderson night before last."

"You may not have been as discrete as you thought either." Her eyes sparkled and her full lips tipped up in a smile. "Jim knew about the two of you long before you told the rest of the team."

Grissom's eyebrows drew together in confused concentration. He looked as if he were attempting to puzzle out when Jim had discovered their secret.

Taking pity on him, Heather explained. "He overheard a conversation between you and Sara one day. Something in the break room, I think, about a burrito."

He thought for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. "I can't believe he knew and didn't say anything. He always had very strong opinions about Sara and me pursuing a relationship."

It was Heather's turn to shrug. "Judgment is not upon all occasions required, but discretion always is."

"Very true." Grissom studied her for a moment. "I must say, I was surprised to see the two of you together."

Dipping her head to hide the blush tinting her cheeks, Heather gave him a shy smile. "He makes me happy."

For a second he looked as if she had punched him. "Then you should hold on to that." His voice was soft and he couldn't meet her direct gaze. Finally, he cleared his throat and gestured toward the living room. "Come in and have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Some tea perhaps?"

"That would be lovely." Moving past him, she sat on the sofa, her eyes moving around the room, taking in the warm colors and rich fabrics. This room was definitely not something Grissom would have designed. "You have a beautiful home. Your Sara has good taste."

Grissom winced. "She does indeed." Gesturing toward the kitchen, he added, "I'll be right back."

Heather took a moment to really study her surroundings. The walls were a deep red that should have been too dark but somehow only made the large space seem cozy and inviting. The furniture was plush chenille in a lovely camel color. She ran her hands over the fabric, appreciating the softness. There were throw pillows in several vibrant hues. And while they should have clashed, they managed instead to give the space a bohemian feel. The tables were made of a medium wood and were large and chunky. In a corner of the room was a beautiful Chinese armoire, its delicate carvings making it a thing of true beauty. There were shelves overflowing with books and candles on every surface, along with framed photos of Grissom, Sara and their friends. It was a lived in space that was very pleasing to the eye, as well as the other senses.

Grissom returned with tea service for two set out on a tray. He placed the tray on the coffee table and poured for them. He slowly lowered himself into the chair across from her. Hank settled by his feet, propping his head on Grissom's knee.

They drank their tea in silence for a bit. Finally, pinning him with her gaze, Heather began, "What you said before, about holding on to happiness, applies to you, too."

"Does it?" His voice was tired and his hand absently rubbed over the dog's head.

Heather wondered for a moment if Grissom realized that he and Hank had the same sad-eyed gaze. "You know, Grissom, when I met you I had certain notions regarding the two of us." He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off. "But, even then, I knew that there was something that would never allow us to be together."

"I _was_ attracted to you, Heather." Grissom's cheeks colored and he looked decidedly uncomfortable with the situation. It seemed almost sacrilegious to speak those words in this place, in Sara's home.

"Don't feel guilty, Grissom. I was never a threat to Sara." Her words were soft and soothing.

He pressed his lips together. Her ability to read him still amazed him time and time again.

"Your attraction to me, and mine to you, wasn't enough. It never would have been." She gave him a soft smile and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Then I saw you and Sara in the same room and everything became clear."

He thought back to the day he and Sara were together in Heather's hospital room. "How could you possibly have gleaned anything from that meeting?"

Her husky laugh filled the space. "I can't believe you asked me that. I make…made my living by knowing what a person wanted merely by observing them. And you two spoke volumes without even looking at one another." She paused, reliving that scene in her mind. "There was something in each of you that reached out to the other. Almost as if you were touching her and she you." With a sigh, she whispered, "I envied her then. More than I can tell you."

"So you weren't involved with Jim at the time?" He released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

Shaking her head, Heather said, "No. But that didn't stop him from coming to me after it was over and explaining, in no uncertain terms, that you belonged to Sara and that I should keep my hands to myself." She smiled at the memory. "We spent some time talking about what you had done for me. And, the rest, as they say, "she shrugged, "is history."

Grissom's expression was one of stunned disbelief. "He told you to keep your hands off me?"

"Not in so many words." She chuckled at his indignation. "Don't worry about it. That's not why I came."

"Then why are you here?"

"What am I supposed to do? You were the one who said we were friends. It is my job, as such, to offer you comfort and counsel." Grissom raised an eyebrow and Heather leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. "If she makes you happy, Grissom, then don't let her go."

"It wasn't my choice, Heather. In case nobody was watching, she left me." Grissom voice held a trace of the bitterness he felt.

"Grissom," she soothed, "I don't know what happened. But I do know that you are miserable. Don't let her go."

With a look of determination that Heather had seen more than once before, he replied, "I never intended to."

Heather's quote is from Phillip Dormer Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield. And courtesy of


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

A/N: Many thanks to the wonderful women who've helped me with this. They are all truly special.

**Chapter 11**

**December 16, 2007**

_Dr. Gilbert Grissom. Renowned entomologist. Crime scene investigator. For a moment, when he pinned me with his gaze, I was nervous. But only for a moment. Then he started asking questions and I realized he was flying blind. He may believe a crime is being committed, but he has no proof. He doesn't have a clue about who I am and what I do. Why should he? He could never understand the need for the service I provide. He would never be able to appreciate the amount of suffering I have saved those women and their families._

_I've done some checking on Dr. Grissom and I know that, along with being eccentric and reclusive, he's very good at his job. He was instrumental in taking the Las Vegas Crime Lab to number two in the nation. He and his team have been credited with solving more crimes than almost any other team of criminalists in the country. If he knew anything, had anything, he wouldn't have shown up alone asking the questions he asked. I can't believe such a smart man would tip his hand like that. _

_And I have no doubt he is a very smart man. But then, so am I. I have no intention of giving up on my work. I had to postpone helping someone last night but I'll figure out a way. I can afford to be patient, patience is, after all a virtue. , I am doing God's will and He will not let me fail._

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Half an hour before shift, Grissom pushed through the doors to the morgue. The normally busy rooms were quiet and the lack of activity was somewhat eerie. Continuing past the gleaming metal tables and sinks, he made his way into Al's office. He rapped on the door a couple of times, interrupting a game of computer solitaire.

"Got a minute?" He smiled and settled into an empty chair.

Clicking pause, Al nodded. "I was just relaxing while I had a chance. It's a timed round. Don't want you to cost me points." Placing his hands on his desk, he leaned toward the other man. "Shoot."

"I…uh…I went out to St. Rose last night."

Al's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"

Grissom rubbed a hand over his mouth, his expression sheepish. "I was…um…fishing."

Once again, Al's eyebrows rose toward the top of his head. "Did you say fishing?" When Grissom nodded, he looked around the room. "Am I being Punk'd?"

"Excuse me?" Grissom's brows drew together.

Waving a hand dismissively, Al barked a laugh. "Never mind. It's just something Greg was telling me about."

"Oh, well, I'm sure I wouldn't know then." There was an awkward pause before he continued. "I think I know who has been killing the women. I just don't know how."

Al waited but Grissom didn't seem inclined to say any more. "Would you like to share?"

The question seemed to startle Grissom. A slight flush brightened his cheeks when he realized he'd been so deep in thought that he'd forgotten where he was. "Have you ever heard of a Dr. Malachi Rosenthal?"

Al thought for a moment and then shook his head. "No. Should I have?"

"Probably not. He's an anesthesiologist on staff there." Choosing his words carefully, Grissom continued, "I was talking with the charge nurse on the fifth floor when he came out of the stairwell door."

"Doctors can't climb stairs?" Al couldn't quite disguise his mirth.

Nailing his friend with a glare, Grissom continued. "It wasn't just that. It was the way he came out the door. He was looking around like he was trying to make sure he wasn't seen. And for just a second he looked angry to have been noticed."

Shaking his head, Al gave him a skeptical look. "So he climbed stairs and looked sneaky. Not sure why you think that makes him a killer."

"He was wearing latex gloves. Said he forgot to take them off." Grissom's eyes narrowed at the memory of the man's flippancy. "How often do you forget to take your gloves off? And why would an anesthesiologist even need gloves outside the OR?"

"It's all circumstantial. It doesn't prove anything."

Grissom nodded. He knew very well that he had nothing to substantiate his suspicions. "It's just a feeling, Al."

Leaning back in his chair, Al ran a hand over his beard. "Wow. I'm shocked." Grissom tilted his head quizzically. "Since when do you go off on your own based on a feeling? Well, aside from that FBI thing a few years back."

Rising to his feet, Grissom turned his gaze inward. "Sometimes, my friend, you have to follow your gut." Moving to the door, he continued, "Let me know if any more women fitting the profile come in."

Al Robbins sat stunned for a long while. He had seen a lot of strange things during his career, but he never thought he'd see Gil Grissom following his gut. Turning the situation over in his mind, he found himself unable to comprehend what he had heard. That sounded like something that…that _Sara _would say. Realization dawned bright and hot. Suddenly, he needed to worry about his friend's professional well being, as if he hadn't already been worried about Gil's emotional well being.

Quickly, he reached for the phone on his desk. He punched in a number, counting the rings until his call was answered. "It's Al. We need to talk."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The shift had been particularly trying. There seemed to be no respite from the craziness of the people who lived and vacationed in Las Vegas. Grissom had spent most of the night juggling his people in order to cover all the things that popped up. Home invasions, B&E's, sexual assaults, the fun just never stopped. If he were honest, he would admit that he was grateful for the work. It kept him from missing Sara, if only for a little while.

It was nearing the end of shift and he was on his way to what he hoped was the last call of the night. It seemed that with the rising of the sun, the criminals had gone home to rest up for the next night of debauchery and mayhem. He pulled up in front of a storefront Thai restaurant that had been the scene of an armed robbery. He climbed out of the car and retrieved his kit. Walking toward the door, he was intercepted by Brass.

Falling into step with Grissom, Brass shoved his hands in his pockets. "Gil. Busy night, huh?"

Grissom watched the other man, noting that Brass couldn't meet his eyes. "You'd think it was a full moon."

Brass continued staring at the storefront, but a small smile curled his lips up. "Um…about yesterday…"

"Did I tell you that I had a visit from Heather?" Grissom stopped walking, forcing Brass to turn around and face him.

"Did you, now?" Brass studied the other man. "And what did she want?"

"To return a favor." He raised an eyebrow. "It seems we both think it's important to return favors."

Brass raised a hand and clapped Grissom on the shoulder. "I'd have to say I agree with you on that."

The two men entered the restaurant to find all the employees huddled together in the tiny dining area. Grissom made quick work of fingerprinting them all while Brass and a couple of uniforms took statements. With some photos and a judicious amount of print powder, the scene was processed. Grissom packed his kit and met Brass just outside.

Brass was on the phone when Grissom stopped beside him. Hanging up, he bent his head forward and massaged the back of his neck. Grissom studied the early morning traffic, the cars full of people hurrying home or to work; their lives full of things to do and places to go. Grissom gave a tired smile as he contemplated how innocent most people were.

"Gil?" Brass' voice broke through his reverie. "You with me?"

Grissom's head snapped around. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I was just thinking."

"There are just too many things I could say at this point. But I won't." Brass grinned.

A look of confusion clouded Grissom's face before he shrugged. "You…uh…want to get some breakfast?" He was tentative. This was the only the second time he had thought of not going straight home since Sara left and the first was mandated by Catherine.

"Sorry, I can't do it today." Brass felt incredibly guilty for turning the man down. "How about a rain check?"

Grissom merely nodded as if he'd expected nothing else. "Sure." He contemplated the traffic for another moment. "Guess I should get this to the lab and get home. Hank will be waiting anyway."

As Grissom walked away, Brass mentally kicked himself for not being quicker on his feet. He opened his mouth to call his friend back but Grissom was already inside his car with the door closed. Once again, he massaged the back of his neck and muttered, "Shit."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The bar was quiet and not too dingy. It was also as far away from Grissom's side of town as one could get without leaving Las Vegas. At a table in a corner three people sat bent over their drinks. They were huddled together, talking quietly. Their faces, creased with concern, occasionally showed their surprise.

"He said what?" Catherine couldn't believe her ears. Surely, Doc was joking.

Doc had spent a few minutes bringing Catherine up to date on the dead women before dropping the latest development on both her and Brass.

Taking a hefty swallow of scotch and soda, Doc smiled at Catherine's reaction. "He said he went fishing."

For a moment, neither Catherine nor Brass spoke. Then she cupped a hand behind her ear and tilted her head. "Wait. Is that the Four Horsemen I hear?" Both men chuckled. "Seriously, has he lost his mind?"

With a strange look on his craggy face, Brass studied his companions. "It's worse than that. He's lost what gave his life meaning."

"Wow, a little deep this morning, aren't we?" Catherine teased, hoping to break Jim out of the funk he'd been in when he arrived. "Bad night?"

"I just turned Gil down for breakfast so that I could be here. Made me feel like shit to say no because he was reaching out finally." Brass tried to force his features into a smile but failed. "Sorry to be such a party pooper."

Reaching over, Catherine put her hand over his. "You're not a party pooper. We're all worried about him."

Gently disentangling his hand, Brass nodded. "So, what are we going to do about it?"

"We can't really do anything." Doc paused when the waitress walked up and asked if they were ready for another round. Each nodded and he continued, "I just wanted the two of you to know what's going on."

Brass agreed. "We can't watch him like he's a two year old. He's a grown man."

"The thing is… Ecklie. If he finds out, he'll hang Gil out to dry in a heartbeat." Catherine toyed with the straw in her drink, absently stirring the ice.

With a determined glint in his eyes, Brass said, "Then we'll just have to run interference. Save Gil from himself."

Doc and Catherine were nodding in agreement when the waitress delivered the next round of drinks.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

His daily routine completed, Grissom sat on the bed watching television with Hank. Absently, he turned his cell phone over and over in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he flipped it open and punched in Sara's number before hitting send. The four rings before her voice mail kicked in seemed interminable.

"Hi. This is Sara. Leave a message and I'll call you back." Her voice sounded forced and tinny through the tiny speaker.

"Hi, Sara. It's…um…it's me." Grissom shrugged even though she couldn't see him. "I didn't want to bother you, but you said I could call. It's just…I…I miss you." His voice cracked and he swallowed convulsively. "And I love you."

Flipping the phone closed, he reached out with a trembling hand and laid it on the nightstand. He turned his attention back to the television. It wasn't until the image on the screen blurred that he realized he was crying.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Not mine. Stop asking.

A/N: A huge thanks to Cropper, LosingInTranslation, Mingsmommy and Superlibn for the beta work. They are all amazing. A very special thank you to Cinco for helping me out when I was trapped in the corner. Also, this chapter contains references to Jewish praryer rituals. I will admit that I don't know much so if I got anything wrong please forgive me. :D

**Chapter 12**

**December 16, 2007**

Sara awoke to a room filled with warm sunlight. And for the first time in a long time her mood was just as bright. She stretched languidly, loving the way the sheets felt against her bare legs and the way the cool air of the room tingled against her arms as they slipped from beneath the blankets. Turning her head, she glanced at the clock and was surprised to see that it was noon.

Laura had stayed until almost midnight, the two of them talking about a time before Sara had been born. They had polished off the last of the soup sometime during the evening. Sara had poked and pried, trying to hide her frustration when Laura balked at answering her questions. Her mother seemed determined to take things slow, but at least she was talking, so Sara had finally decided to just relax and let things happen.

Rising from the bed, Sara hurried into the bathroom, yelping when her bare feet hit the cold floor. She completed her morning routine quickly before donning some sweatpants and a sweatshirt and sliding her feet into the fuzzy slippers she loved. She shuffled into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee before checking her phone. She didn't expect to have any calls. She hadn't had any since leaving even though she had asked Grissom to call whenever he wanted. She only checked the thing as a form of self-torment. Her surprised delight at seeing Grissom's number displayed under missed calls had her smiling like she hadn't in months.

Noticing that she had a voicemail, Sara pressed the speed dial numbers and waited for the prompts. Pushing the appropriate buttons, she held the phone to her ear. Grissom's voice came through the speaker and she winced, her good mood burning away like morning fog dissipating in the sun. He sounded so tired, so lonely.

"_Hi, Sara. It's…um…it's me. I didn't want to bother you, but you said I could call. It's just…I…I miss you. And I love you."_

When his voice broke, she felt tears fill her eyes. Without stopping to think about the time, she hung up and dialed Grissom.

"Grissom," he said into the phone.

"Shit. Gil, I'm sorry." After years of careful study Sara could tell by the slight huskiness in his voice that he had been asleep. Her words came out in a rush. "I wasn't thinking. I'll call you later." She was about to hang up when she heard him say, "Wait."

"Sara?" He asked hopefully.

"I'm here." She paused for a moment, listening to him breathe. Her legs moved her toward the couch and she sank down on the cushions. "How are you?"

To his credit, he tried to sound cheerful. "I'm okay. I hope I didn't bother you. I just hadn't heard from you and I was worried."

Again, she found herself fighting back tears. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. It was…just a bad few days." When he didn't say anything she rushed to fill the silence. "Things are better now but I still should have called."

"It's okay, honey," Grissom began to placate her.

"No. It's not okay." Sara sucked in a deep breath. "It's not okay for me to make you worry any more than I already have."

They were both silent for a moment. Finally, Sara spoke. "I got your message."

Sara would have sworn, if it were possible, that she could see his embarrassment through the phone. "I probably shouldn't have done that. I don't want to put any pressure on you. But the house was so empty this morning and…"

"Gil, don't." Sara's hand tightened around the phone. "Don't apologize for being human. I miss you, too. And I love you. Never doubt that."

"That's not the easiest thing to do some days." Grissom's voice was hoarse with all the emotions he was fighting hard to suppress. "All those years I lived in fear of this but I never imagined it would be this hard."

She wanted to talk to him, but hearing the pain in his words was more than she was ready for, and without knowing what she was asking, she said, "Gil, please."

"Please what, Sara?" He felt the anger slipping through the wall he had built and he fought to keep it contained.

She shook her head violently. "I don't know. I just…I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. Never."

"Well, life's funny like that." He snapped as the fury rose on a tide of bitterness and self-pity. His control was slipping and he made a futile attempt to divert the storm that was coming. "Look, can we talk about something else?"

Sara's eyes slid closed and she drew in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. "I don't want to talk about something else. We've ignored this for far too long. I want to get this all out in the open. I want you to tell me exactly how you feel. And then I want to put it behind us so we can start to heal."

Grissom was silent for so long that she was beginning to think the connection had been lost. His voice was tight and controlled when he finally said, "I can't."

"Yes you can." Sara's jaw clenched tight in frustration. "You were so close just a minute ago. You can tell me. Let it out."

"Don't you think we're past talking about it?" Grissom gave a harsh laugh.

"No, I don't." Her expression was confused as she thought about his question. "I think being able to talk to each other, even about painful things, is what keeps a relationship alive. I don't ever remember my parents talking."

"We _are not_ your parents." Grissom's anger boiled over. He hated being compared to her father in any way. "But you are so afraid of becoming like them that you can't see the truth. You can't see what we had."

Swallowing convulsively, Sara fought against the pain from his words. "Had?"

"Don't nitpick, Sara. You know exactly what I mean." His words were short, clipped.

Sara sighed. "You're right. I do know what you mean." She fought to keep her voice steady. "It's just that you've never been the best at communication."

"Me?" Grissom couldn't believe the woman who broke his heart with a letter had the nerve to say he didn't communicate. "At least when I needed to leave I told you. Face to face."

"You're right." Sara could feel the flush of shame coloring her cheeks. "You did."

"And I told you when I'd be back." He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "I didn't run off without even consulting you. I didn't buy a one way ticket to Massachusetts and ask you just to accept it."

He was sitting on the edge of the bed running a hand through his hair. Hank, sensing his master's agitation, studied Grissom curiously, whimpering at the angry words.

"It's not a one way ticket." Sara's anger rose to match his. "I'm coming home."

"Are you, Sara? Are you really?" Grissom pushed off the bed and began to pace, his empty hand clenching and releasing unconsciously. "Do you think the new and improved Sara will still want me?"

For once, Sara was at a loss for words. She couldn't even begin to process what she'd just heard.

Grissom's heart was pounding and his breathing was rapid. He knew that any chance for a rational conversation was lost. He moved to the closet, yanking jeans and a clean shirt off their hangers. "You know what, Sara? I can't talk about this anymore."

"Gil, please don't be…" Sara's attempt to calm him was cut off.

"Not now, Sara." He moved back to the bed, dropping the clothes he was carrying. "I need to go. I'll call you later." With that he snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the bed.

In under a minute he was dressed and shoving his wallet in his pocket. Then he and Hank were in the car. Not sure about his destination, he merely drove, letting the miles unwind behind him.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

_And so the ritual begins. I remove the phylacteries from the chest in the corner of the room, the smell of worn leather and aged parchment escaping from its confines. Placing the larger of the two leather boxes on the inside of my left arm, just above the elbow, I begin to slowly and methodically wind the straps around my forearm and down over my hand, ending with the wrapping of my middle finger. As each pass is made around my arm I recite the words of the scriptures contained within, scriptures written millions of years before. The blessings pour from my lips and my heart is filled with such peace that I can hardly hold it all. _

_I continue the sacrament, placing the other box in the center of my forehead and tying the ribbons behind my head. Carefully, I arrange their ends to dangle over my shoulders, turning them so that they lay against my chest as dictated by law. My lips continue to move, forming the words of the ancient language. The scriptures are a reassuring whisper against the cool air of the room. My mind and body work as one, my knees bending at the appropriate times as I supplicate myself before God. I am lost in the familiarity of my actions. _

_When I was younger, I couldn't see the beauty of Judaism. Now I appreciate the nuances, the meaning behind each and every prayer. I understand that following the laws of God can bring favor to a man. I know this because I am one of the blessed, the chosen. Just like my ancestors, I will use the power of Jehovah to defeat my enemy. As I stand here before Him, I ask for His strength and His guidance. I pray for perseverance and wisdom. I claim the laws set out millions of years ago as my own and I look to them for guidance. I then give thanks unto the Lord for all that he has done for me because I must never forget how my life__could have been different._

_I can see the room around me begin to reassemble itself. Little pieces coming into focus one pixel at a time. When I glance up, I realize that almost two hours have passed. I am hungry and tired but my heart is at peace. I remove the phylacteries and store them in their trunk, all the while thinking of my next move in the battle of wits I have entered into with Dr. Grissom. With a smile I remind myself that I don't have to worry. I will prevail because I am doing God's will. _

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The miles sped by unnoticed. Subdivisions gave way to the lights of the strip. Those, too, soon faded into the distance. The scenery changed from hotels and fountains and flashing lights to hard packed sand, mesquite bushes and Joshua trees. But none of it penetrated Grissom's brain.

He had thought the anger would fade if he could just get away from the emptiness house. Instead it seemed to grow with every click of the odometer. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard that his forearms actually ached from the strain. Still, he couldn't relax, he couldn't regain his equilibrium. His focus remained turned inward, driving merely a subconscious activity. His mind replayed the conversation with Sara. All the things he should have said, could have said, instead of hanging up wound through his tired brain.

_Would it have been so wrong to tell her you want her to come home? That you miss her? And if she can't come here you want to go to her? _

_No. _

_So why didn't you just say that? _

_Because I'm afraid to give her that power even after all we've been through. _

_Who are you trying to kid? She has always had that power over you. _

_How can I be this fucked up? Why can't I just tell her how I feel?_

A fresh wave of anger washed over him when he realized that by not pulling her closer he was pushing her away.

Visions of the past assaulted him. He could see Sara, ten years younger, pony tail bouncing, smile lighting up the room. Sara, standing there with the Vegas sun turning her hair to molten chocolate, smiling at him like no one else in the world existed. Sara crying. Sara laughing. Sara fighting. Sara underneath him with heat in her eyes. Sara loving him when he couldn't even love himself. Sara with her body broken. Knowing that he loved each and every one of her many forms only added fuel to the fire.

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest and hear the blood rushing in his head. His whole body burned with the heat of his fury. Hank, who normally rode with his head resting on Grissom's shoulder, was curled up in the back seat, eyeing the man warily as the anger rolled off him in waves. Suddenly, as if he weren't torn enough, Natalie joined the fray; her dreamy smile and empty eyes, the fucking song that made his skin crawl and his heart break into a million pieces.

_Maybe it would have been easier to deal with if Sara had died in the desert. _

_What?! How can you even think that? What kind of man are you? _

_I didn't really mean that. I couldn't live with myself if she had died out there. Died out there because of me. No. Even if she left me I'm so thankful she's alive. I can't imagine living knowing that she was never coming back. _

_Is that why you keep holding on to the idea of her returning? _

_She is coming back. I believe that she's coming back._

Grissom tried to rein in his thoughts, to make some sense of his anger so that he could regain control. But his mind wouldn't cooperate, wouldn't turn off. Time passed unheeded. He drove and thought and railed against everything that was wrong in his life. He railed against his own inadequacies, Sara's childhood, the Great Rainone who couldn't love one daughter as much as he did the other.

It wasn't until he saw the sign for Red Rocks that Grissom realized where he had been heading when he got in the car. He slowed down and made the turn into the park. There were a few cars dotted around the asphalt but he didn't bother with parking. Instead, he crossed the small area and nosed onto the access road at the far end.

A mere five miles further and he was there. The indention was the same. The endless acres of sand were the same. Nothing had changed except that the car was no longer there. Putting his vehicle in park, he sat and stared at the spot where Sara had been left to die. He lowered the windows and turned off the engine. The air was cool and dry, the wind occasionally whistling through the sparse vegetation.

He stared at the dent in the earth and images began to unfold across his mind. As if he too could see what had happened here, Hank sat up and gave a sharp bark that trailed off into a whimper. He rested his head on Grissom's shoulder and they both stared through the windshield, as if they were at a drive-in, the two of them watching something that only they could see.

_Sara trapped, her hand clutching weakly at the rocky soil._ _The rain fell, pounding down on her arm, trickling underneath the car, wetting her clothes and her hair and her skin. _

_Why didn't I realize it was Natalie? Why didn't I figure it out in time? _

_The weight of the car making it hard for her to breathe. _

_She's so thin, so fragile. She's so beautiful. How could I have let this happen to her? _

_The water rose, higher and higher. The car tilted but wouldn't lift enough for her to get out. Her arm, she pulled and yanked and then the bone snapped. _

_The pain must have been fierce. But she told me it was no worse than she had felt before. I should have seen it then. I should have known there was something going on. But I was so glad she was alive that I didn't see, didn't look. So much pain in her life. How much is my fault? How many times did I hurt her, even when I didn't mean to?_

_Scrambling and clawing out of that hole. Moving, climbing, away from the flood water. Dripping wet, freezing, scared and disoriented. _

_All this because of me. Because I wasn't good enough. _

_No wonder you've been too scared to think about it. You led Natalie straight to her._

The anger was a living thing. It seethed and writhed in his gut. Unable to sit inside the car any longer he fumbled for the door handle. Grissom's movements were jerky when he flung open the door and stepped out. Just as he had the day they found Sara, he moved across the desert and dropped to his knees. This time Hank scrambled out and followed him, pressing his quivering body against Grissom's side as they came to a stop.

Grissom clenched his trembling hands into fists, his knuckles white with the effort. For a long while, he simply knelt there, trying to understand where everything in his life had gone wrong. But there were no answers. Science and logic couldn't help him. And without those two things, he was lost. With his heart pounding in his ears, he tilted his head back and screamed. "Why?!! Damnit, I want to know why!!!!!"

The information on Jewish prayer rituals came from:


	14. Chapter 14

\/p

Disclaimer: Not Mine! Stop Asking!

A/N: A huge thanks to Cropper, LosingInTranslation, Mingsmommy and Superlibn for all their hard work!

**Chapter 13**

**December 16, 2007**

After leaving Red Rock Canyon, Grissom drove home, physically and emotionally exhausted. He deleted all the missed calls from his phone. Sara had called five times while he was gone, but he couldn't bring himself to call her back. He had had some vague notion his emotional release in the desert would be cathartic, but it only left him more tired, with a sore throat and a hollow feeling in the middle of his chest. He missed her in that moment with every fiber of his being; yearned for her in a way he couldn't begin to put into words. 

Taking off his clothes, he climbed between the sheets. Curling onto his side, he closed his eyes and tried to force the images of Sara from his mind, images that flashed against the inside of his eyelids like a private slideshow. Sleep was a long time coming and it was almost sundown before he was able to drift off. Even there, in the land of ether, he couldn't escape his need for her.

_There is a door, dark brown and unassuming. The patterns in the grain mesmerize me. My back is warm from the sun beating down on me. A car door slamming and a horn honking reach my ears. Underneath that are the sounds of singing birds and laughing children. All of them fill me with the knowledge that I am alive. City odors assault me; car exhaust and hot asphalt, garbage and the neighbor's flowers, meat grilling from two buildings over. I want to look at my surroundings but I can't tear my gaze from the door. Instead, I stand there for the longest time with my hands jammed in my pockets. Slowly, almost resignedly, I raise my right hand and rap my knuckles against the door. The wood is hot._

_Without a sound, the door swings open and all those other things fade away. The space beyond the portal is shadowed and cool and empty. Tentatively, I step inside and the door closes with a quiet click behind me. Without moving I am suddenly standing in a bedroom. Not just any bedroom though. This is Sara's room, Sara's bed, Sara's. Here the sun slants in through the open blinds. The air is heavy with the afternoon heat. I look around, taking in for what seems like the first time a space I know I've seen hundreds of times. The walls are the soft yellow of butter, but the sun turns them rich, golden butterscotch. The carpet is the generic beige that can only be found in apartments. There is a scent here that sends tickles along my spine and my fingers flex with a need I can't define. I don't know why I'm here but I make no move to leave. _

_I turn my head just a fraction and there, as if by magic, is Sara. I feel a slow smile spread across my face. She is sprawled across the dark sheet in a beautiful display of long, lean limbs. The thought crosses my mind that she sleeps just like she does everything else – full tilt. Her hair, hair that I have longed to touch for years, hides her face. It puzzles me that I can't remember touching it, but I know exactly how it feels against my skin. "Like silk and sin," floats through my mind and my body tenses in anticipation. I study her without guilt or recrimination. I give myself permission to look because there is no harm in that._

_The sheet is bunched around her hips and the long, long line of her back is bared for me. The firm muscles covered by soft, pale skin are like a balm on my soul. She is sweet, feminine perfection. I know the texture of her skin, the taste of it, even though I've never had the pleasure of more than holding her hand. But my hands remember, my lips and tongue know, the way she feels. And I ache to touch her._

_Slowly, gracefully, she rolls over and her eyes meet mine. She is tousled and drowsy and lovelier than I remembered. Then she smiles. I feel that smile from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. It is a radiating warmth that consumes my soul. Beautiful. That is my only thought. She is so very beautiful. Without a moment's hesitation, she opens her arms to me._

_I am naked and she is touching me, kissing me, loving me. I can't think anymore. I can only feel. Her soft skin against mine. Her heat warming me. I am lost in her and she in me. Her nails dig into my shoulders as I press my body into hers. A long moan of satisfaction slips from her lips and I echo the sound. There is something so amazing about the way she fits around me, the way her body moves and shifts to allow me in. It feels so good that I give myself over to it completely. I am merely a million nerve endings and she is stroking each one. She shudders underneath me, arching and tightening, pulsing. _

"_Gil," her voice is low and throbbing with emotion, "I love you."_

_That is all it takes. I come…hard. My body jerks and I bury myself in her as far as possible. My cock throbs as I pump into her over and over. My own ragged cry fills my ears.._

"_Sara!"_

Grissom was jerked awake by the sound of his own voice. The dream clung to him, holding him in its warm embrace. He lay there for a moment, trying to hold on to the feeling of making love to Sara. Instead, his mind slowly registered the cold, sticky mess covering the front of his underwear. With a muttered curse he threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Once in the bathroom, he turned on the shower. Dropping his soiled underwear into the clothes hamper, he climbed beneath the spray and sighed as the hot water pounded down on his tired body. 

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

_Once I realized that an alternate plan was necessary it was easy to work things out. A few days of thinking through the problem and I had a solution. It was so simple I can't believe I didn't think of it before. But isn't that the way things usually are? Oh well, let's see what __**Doctor **__Grissom makes of this little glitch in his theory._

_It is just after six in the evening when I leave my house. Even here in the suburbs the streets are still busy. People are buzzing about shopping for Christmas gifts. Restaurants and stores are crowded. Nerves are stretched thin. With every passing day people seem to lose a little more of their holiday spirit. They have no idea that somewhere, not too far away, people are suffering._

_I drive five miles to the non-descript office building just two blocks from the hospital. I park and then make my way toward the door__of the office_._ The lock snicks and I push my way inside. I catch sight of the red light flashing on the alarm panel and stop to punch in the code. Even though it is early evening, the sun has long since set and the inside of the building is dark. But I don't need the light. I am accustomed to the shadows. I follow the familiar route to my office and sit behind my desk, turning on the computer. _

_With a few clicks, I have located the online dictation files. I'm sure when my partners and I decided to buy this software none of us thought it could be used for this purpose. I can feel the grin on my face at the ironies in life. I study the list of files and decide to sort by physician's name first. That helps me narrow things down nicely. With a quiet chuckle, I go to work._

_After leaving the office I returned home and dropped into a peaceful sleep. It is still dark when I drag myself out of bed and prepare to face the day. I can feel the fear thrumming through my veins. But I hold tight to the promises of God. I am armed with a name, a room number and my conviction when I walk through the ER doors at St. Rose Sienna. There are three St. Rose campuses within a twenty mile radius. I am not on staff at this facility but Jackson Wright is. And he is my partner. And he has a patient on the fourth floor; a patient who, just yesterday, underwent a partial hysterectomy for cervical cancer. _

_I try to look casual as I maneuver through the halls. My scrubs are generic, my surgical cap too. I have 'inadvertently' left my name tag turned around backward. With a stethoscope slung around my neck, I am all but invisible. I find a stairwell and make my way to the fourth floor. As I climb, I feel a peace settling over me. I have my explanations ready if I am caught. But nothing can go wrong now. Nothing._

_The hallway is empty as I cross the thirty feet to room 407. The door opens silently and I enter with a whisper of rubber soles on the tile floor. The woman is sleeping and I take a moment to study her. She looks so peaceful but I know that somewhere deep inside her lurks an insidious invader. Swiftly, I move to her bedside and find the IV port. Administering the drug, I wait until her eyes pop open in surprise. Her mouth opens but her lungs will not work. _

_Leaning close, I brush a lock of hair off her forehead and whisper in her ear. "Don't be afraid, Jessica. This is God's Will."_

_I leave just as quietly as I came. _

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

**December 20, 2007**

Four days without sleep had Grissom struggling to hold on to his composure. The usually soothing sounds of the lab had his nerves on edge and he was snarling at everyone who came within ten feet of him. His mood was black when he strode into the break room, assignment slips clutched tightly in his hand. "Listen up. We've got a full plate tonight." All conversation ceased as his voice cut through the air like a knife. Without glancing up he began to read off the papers. 

"Catherine, you have a 426. Sofia and the vic are at Desert Palm." As if sensing the wince that crossed her face he said, "Sorry, but I need a woman on this one." He walked over and handed her the slip. "Greg, you can help her out. Meet Vartann at the scene. Catherine has the address."

He didn't pause to make sure his instructions were followed. Instead, he held up another piece of paper. "Warrick, 430B at a residence. The uniforms are waiting on you." When the slip was plucked from his hand, he continued, "And Nick, there's a 401A. You should be okay. But if you need help, call Warrick and he can back you up when he's done."

"Sure boss." Nick took the slip from Grissom and headed for the door. Turning back, he gave the other man a worried look. 'Hey, Griss? You okay?"

Grissom's head swung around slowly and he nailed Nick with a glare. "Everything is fine Nick. Why wouldn't it be?" His hand slowly closed on the slip that contained the information for his own case.

Nick, realizing his question had gone unanswered, simply stood there for a moment. His eyes searched Grissom's face taking in the bags under his eyes and the deep grooves around his mouth. "You just don't look too good. If there's anything you need…"

"I need you to get to work." Grissom's voice was clipped, his eyes cold and hard. 

Nick's temper flared, but he quickly tamped it down. Reluctantly, he turned and left the room. As soon as the other man was out of earshot, Grissom dropped his head and sighed while massaging the back of his neck. He knew that he was being unreasonable and he felt even worse about taking it out on people who cared about him. With another deep sigh he moved over to the coffee pot and poured a cup. He was headed back to his office to pick up his kit when his phone bleated.

Snatching it off his belt, he snapped out a greeting. "Grissom."

"Good evening to you, too, Gil." Al's voice sailed over the line.

His scowl deepened at the man's cheerful tone. "You have something for me?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Judy and I were wondering what you were doing for Christmas."

Closing his eyes, Grissom stopped walking and simply stood there trying to formulate a response.

"Gil?" Al sounded concerned.

"I'm here." He forced back a sigh. "I'll be working Christmas Eve and Christmas Day."

"Well, we're having dinner around eight on Christmas Eve and wondered if you'd like to come over." The offer was hesitant but seemingly heartfelt.

Resuming his trek, Grissom felt a warmth in the center of his chest that momentarily surprised him. "I appreciate that. But I don't want to intrude." Swallowing past the lump that was quickly forming in his throat, he continued. "Please tell Judy I said thank you."

Al was quiet for a moment. "Don't say no just yet. Think about it." When his request was met with silence he continued. "Okay, then. I'm sure I'll be seeing you later."

"Thanks, Al." Grissom's voice was quiet as he signed off. He wondered, in an abstract way, just how many invitations he would receive over the next few days. For some reason, the thought didn't bother him nearly as much as he thought it would. As he grabbed his kit he made a mental note to apologize to Nick later.

Twelve long, frustrating hours later, Grissom once again entered his office. His simple assault turned into a manslaughter. His back and knees were aching. His eyes were gritty. And he wanted nothing more than a stiff drink and a hot shower. He had already restocked his kit and dropped off his evidence. He intended to pick up a file and head home. He wasn't prepared for what he found waiting.

The plain folder was sitting on his chair where he'd be sure to see it. Picking it up, he recognized Al's familiar scrawl on the note stuck to the front. 

_Gil-_

_Looks like we have another one._

_Al_

Sitting down, he opened the file and skimmed through the contents. The victim profile was the same. But the location was different. Grissom sat quietly, his brain going over and over the information. Finally, a slow smile split his face. "Jessica Williams. You might just be his first mistake." He shoved the file roughly into his briefcase and left the office.

\/p


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: A very special thanks to Cropper, LosingInTranslation, Mingsmommy and Superlibn for the awesome beta! Love you all!

**December 20, 2007**

The clackity-clack of the wheel on the shopping cart seemed to match the rhythm of the canned music as Sara pushed the cart up and down the aisles of the grocery store. She found herself walking either faster or slower, depending on the pace of the Christmas carol playing at the moment. Head bobbing, Sara checked things off her list as she placed them in the cart. Her mind couldn't focus completely on the task at hand. Instead, her thoughts kept wandering to the upcoming holiday.

Not once since her first holiday in foster care had Sara imagined spending Christmas with her mother. Actually, she had given up that dream the day her father died. And holidays as a foster child were full of forced cheer and cheap gifts and tears shed in secret. They were days filled with too many people, but never the right ones. Those years were followed closely by her years at Harvard, years when her friends went home to spend time with their families and Sara stayed at school. Years of waiting tables at Christmas, just so that she didn't have to be alone. Years spent turning down invitations because Sara Sidle didn't want anybody's pity. By the time she was back in San Francisco it was easier to volunteer for work rather than sit in her lonely apartment. And her time in Vegas was just a continuation of that story. Until two years ago.

Two years ago had been her first Christmas with Grissom. Two years ago they had both been just a little giddy with the idea of having someone to spend the holiday with. They had picked out a tree and decorated it, then made love with the colored lights flickering over their naked bodies. They bought gifts to wrap and had taken great delight in drawing out the anticipation. That Christmas was the first time Sara could remember the holiday without the cloud of fear, or anger, or sadness.

Now, she was here. Strolling through the aisles of the local market, Sara grinned at the disorganized list Laura had given her. It puzzled her that some people didn't take the time to put their list in some kind of order. Onions and sweet potatoes and cheese. Milk and flour and fresh apples and cranberries. It was obvious that her mother was planning a traditional Christmas dinner. But Sara wasn't sure how she really felt about that. Despite any progress the two of them had made, she still didn't think of the woman as family. That moniker was reserved for Grissom and Hank and the handful of misfits who had made her part of their lives.

Shaking her head to clear it, she reached for the pint of heavy cream that was on the list. Tossing it into the cart, she moved on. She was in the process of checking a dozen eggs for cracks when her phone rang. She used one hand to fish in her purse. Pulling it out she glanced at the caller id and her heart flip-flopped in her chest.

Flipping it open, she brought it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Sara," Grissom's voice was soft, but determined. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," she sighed. "I've missed you."

His deep chuckle warmed her. "I've missed you, too." He took a moment to listen to her breathe. "Let's not fight anymore. I don't want to fight with you."

Sara set the eggs down in the cart and swiped at her eyes. Smiling through the tears, she nodded. "Okay."

Grissom's sigh was so heavy that she could almost feel it gust against her ear. "That was the second most frightening thing I've ever done."

"Second?" She laughed despite the seriousness of the moment. "What was the first?"

"Kissing you for the first time," his reply came without hesitation.

Sara smiled at his response. "Was I really that scary?"

"Oh yeah," his voice caressed her and she really wished she wasn't standing in the dairy section of a supermarket. "Besides, I knew that once I kissed you, I couldn't fool myself anymore that you were just a friend."

"Ah," she teased. "So, you were straddling the fence?"

He was silent for so long Sara was afraid she managed to upset him again. Then he spoke in a firm, steady voice. "For way longer than I should have. But I've never been so glad to fall in my life."

Clearing her throat, Sara swiped at the next round of tears. "You know, if I you keep making me cry, people are going to start staring at me."

"So, where are you?" Grissom's question was met with a quiet laugh from Sara.

"I'm at the supermarket. Picking up some things for Laura."

"That sounds positive. Your buying groceries for her."

Sara shrugged her smile fading. "I guess. I just don't know if I want to do the whole traditional celebration thing."

Grissom's stomach clenched. Up until that moment, he had been holding on to some faint hope that she would come home to him for Christmas. "Oh. So, you're spending the holidays there?"

"Do you want me to come home? For Christmas?" Sara hoped her words didn't sound as needy as she felt at that moment. Just one word from him and she would be on her way back to Vegas.

"I want you to do what you need to do," he said after a long pause. "If…_when_ you come home I want it to be for good. Forever."

Sara swallowed heavily at his words. Sometimes she couldn't believe the position she had put them both in. She never imagined that she would be the one reassuring him. Neither had she imagined that she would run away like a belligerent teenager in order to find herself. But, here she was.

"I'm coming home, Gil. Never doubt that."

"I try not to." Clearing his throat, he pressed his fingers to his eyes and tried to massage away the ache that was building there. "Do you feel like hearing about work?"

Sara's heart leapt in surprise. This was the first time he had mentioned the lab to her at all. And she was amazed at how much she missed it after a month away. "Of course I want to hear about it. What's going on?"

Sara tucked the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she began walking along the refrigerated section, adding sour cream and cheese to the items already in the cart. She listened to his voice, letting the familiar cadence of the words wash away her worries, as he told her about the latest cases and the people she had left behind. She made her way to the registers at the front of the store while he began talking about a file that Doc had brought to him.

The cashier rang up her items while she listened to Gil lay out the facts. Sara could clearly understand why he thought the women were being murdered. And as she heard about his meeting with Dr. Malachi Rosenthal her instincts began screaming that the man was hiding something. She paid for her purchases and allowed the bag boy to take them to the car so that she didn't have to juggle the phone and the bags and the cart. Finally, she was settled behind the wheel and Grissom was coming to the end of his story. She started the car and turned on the heater to ward off the chill of the December day. But instead of leaving the parking place she settled back in the seat and turned his story over in her mind.

"So, you think this doctor is killing the women?" Sara's mind was running just below warp speed. "Like an angel of mercy?"

"I've been doing some research." He ignored her snort of laughter. "Usually, this type of killer either has a hero complex or has had a very traumatic event that triggered the behavior."

"Since the women are dead, I'd bet on an event." Sara turned that over in her mind. "You need a warrant."

"I need a reason to get one." Grissom sighed. "I hate this. I hate knowing that a crime has been committed and not being able to do anything about it."

Sara thought for a moment, unsure of how to respond. It had been a very long time since she had seen Grissom so convinced that there was a crime without any evidence to support his theory. Unbidden, a picture of young, passionate Grissom filled her mind. And she realized that she had missed him just as much as she missed the older, more reserved man she was talking to. She knew that he still had that kind of passion in him. She had experienced it firsthand. But he never let it color his work anymore.

"So are you going to look into his background?" Sara tried to keep her voice neutral. "Maybe if you know more about him you can find something to help you prove murder?"

Grissom's sigh was loud and long. "I'm not sure. I need to figure out how he's killing them. If I can do that then I can worry about why."

Sara smiled at his stubbornness. "Sometimes, Gil, the why is just as important as the how."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Grissom closed the phone and a let his head fall back against the couch cushions. Just hearing Sara's voice had lifted his spirits and he couldn't stop smiling. He missed a lot of things about her, but one of the things he missed most was having someone to bounce ideas off of in times like these. He missed the way her mind worked. He missed her compassion and her desire to understand the why behind the how. She was a great criminalist because of her mind, but she was a brilliant criminalist because of her heart.

His eyelids were heavy, the sleepless nights catching up with him. Now that his mind and heart were at ease about Sara, his body was demanding that he rest. The television was playing quietly in the background, Hank was snoring from his spot underneath the coffee table and Grissom, phone still clutched in his hand, allowed sleep to overtake him.

He awoke much later with a crick in his neck. Maneuvering his aching body into a sitting position, he rubbed his hands over his eyes and yawned. When Hank raised his eyelids and gave him a baleful stare, Grissom chuckled.

"Sorry, boy. My neck is killing me." He reached for the remote to turn off the television. "I'm going to bed."

Hank merely snuffled and settled his head back on the rug. Suddenly, Grissom caught the phrase 'angel of mercy' from the television and he straightened up. Pointing the remote, he turned up the volume.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The old house was decorated for the season with yard upon yard of evergreen garland and candles and wreathes. The tree was massive, taking up a quarter of the parlor, and was decorated with strings of real popcorn and candy canes and ornaments designed to fit with the Victorian feel of the house. The overall effect was beautiful, but it still left Sara feeling cold. She longed for the simple tree she had shared with Grissom and wondered if he had even bothered to put one up this year. She knew him well enough to know which side of that bet to be on, and she felt another wave of guilt wash over her.

The thought of losing him was never far from her mind. She knew that she had to go home. She had to make things right between them. If she lost him, all of this was for naught.

"Sara, are you going to stare into that refrigerator all day?" Laura's question broke her reverie.

"Huh?" She turned around, catching the concern in her mother's eyes. "Sorry. I'm just…," she shrugged helplessly. "I'm a little distracted, I guess."

Stepping around her, Laura pushed the door of the refrigerator closed. "You know, I'd understand if you want to go home. For Christmas."

Sara shook her head, but there was no conviction behind it. "I'm okay. I came here for a reason. Gil understands that."

"Does he, Sara?" Concern made the words soft, almost a whisper. "Does he really understand?"

Squaring her shoulders, Sara calmly replied, "Yes. He really does."

Laura's eyes searched her daughter's, looking for the truth. Finally, satisfied, she nodded. "Good." With an absentminded wave, she motioned Sara toward a chair. "Sit down. I'll make us some tea."

With a smile, Sara pulled open the refrigerator again. "I'd rather have a root beer."

Grinning, Laura pulled out a chair. "Me, too. Bring me one?"

Sara set the cold can in front of her mother before popping the top on her own. She took a long drink before sinking into the chair opposite Laura. "Did we have root beer at home? When I was little?"

Slowly, Laura nodded. "It was your father's favorite." She brought the can to her lips and took a sip. "I never drink it. Funny, huh?"

"What else did you guys like?" Sara began to twirl the can around in circles on the table, watching the condensation rings make patterns on the wood.

Laura studied Sara. She was so beautiful and so fragile. Something had driven her here, something she didn't want to talk about. Laura knew that before Sara could go home, she had to come to terms with whatever that was. A sad smile played over her lips and she shook her head slightly.

"We were…normal, Sara." Her voice was steady, betraying none of what she was feeling. "In a lot of ways, we were normal."

Something indefinable lurked in Sara's eyes as she glanced at her mother. "I…don't know if I'd say we were normal." She took a drink, letting the sweetness roll over her tongue. "At least not what most people would consider normal."

It was Laura's turn to study the table, searching for explanations in the wood. "You're right. But we ate hotdogs and went to the beach and the fair and took drives on Sunday. So, no matter what you think, we did normal things."

Reaching out, Sara laid her hand over her mother's. "Doing normal things didn't make us normal. It just made the rest of it worse."


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Not mine. Stop asking.

A/N: A huge thanks to Cropper, LosingInTranslation, Mingsmommy and Superlibn for the beta work. They are all amazing!

**December 20, 2007**

_Reaching out, Sara laid her hand over her mother's. "Doing normal things didn't make us normal. It just made the rest of it worse."_

Laura looked down to where Sara's hand covered hers; one long and elegant, the other work roughened and old. Not once since Mike died had the touch of another person affected her as much as this one did. The simple fact that Sara hadn't thought about it first, hadn't even hesitated, spoke volumes. "It's funny, the things you remember." She looked up and gave Sara a soft smile.

"For the longest time, I've worked very hard to forget the bad stuff. And now you're asking me to dredge it all up again." Turning her hand over, Laura grasped Sara's fingers and gave a light squeeze.

Sara considered the woman across from her. The long gray braid and crow's feet seemed to melt away, replaced by auburn curls and smooth skin. And Sara was taken back more than twenty years. She remembered the bruises on Laura's face, the scratches on her arms and chest. Vividly she recollected the blisters across Laura's back following an altercation that involved a bowl of soup that hadn't met with her father's approval.

"I've never forgotten." Sara gently extricated her hand from her mother's grip. She held Laura's gaze and said in a low voice, "I've never forgotten what it was like to watch him hit you, or the way it sounded. And I remember what it felt like to be hit by him. I've never forgotten what it was like to live in fear."

Pushing to her feet, Laura moved over to the sink. Leaning on the counter, she stared out the window into the backyard. The brilliant blue of the mid-winter's sky seemed to mock her. In direct contrast, the room behind her seemed dark and stormy with all the long suppressed emotions swirling around. "You have to let this go, Sara. It ruined my life. Don't let it ruin yours, too."

"That's why I'm here." Sara gripped the can of root beer, her fingers denting the metal with a quiet thunk, her eyes boring into the hole in the top. "Because it _is_ ruining my life. It controls me and I'm tired of living like that."

Laura's head dropped down, her chin resting on her chest, as her eyes slid closed and she drew in a shuddering breath. Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink until her knuckles turned white, her fingertips bloodless with the effort. "What is it you think talking about all of this is going to accomplish?"

The kitschy salt and pepper shakers shaped like crowing roosters blurred before her unseeing eyes. Her gaze turned inward, Sara thought for a moment, her mind trying vainly to offer up any kind of plausible answer. She wanted desperately to say that some answers to her questions would put an end to her anger and fear. But she was pretty sure it might not be the case. Her problems ran much deeper than just her past and the death of her father.

"I don't know." Sara's voice quivered, and her eyes grew glassy with unshed tears. Straightening her shoulders, she drew in a calming breath. When she spoke again her words were strong. "But I need to understand where it all went wrong. I need to know why."

With a bitter smile on her lips, Laura let the memories wash over her. Suddenly, she wasn't a middle-aged, ex-con, innkeeper drinking root beer with her adult daughter. Instead, she was back in that rundown house, back in the fucked up mess she used to call her life.

She could smell the stale smoke and the old grease and sweat. She could taste the fear. That old table with the metal legs and cream laminate top, the chairs that would barely support Sara but were solid enough to break a bone, the clock on the wall that ticked away the seconds between fights; they were so real Laura was positive that she could reach out and touch them. She fought back nausea as in her mind she heard Mike screaming her name.

As if from a great distance she began, "You know, Sara, there are some people who should never have children. Mike and I…we were those people." A smirk twisted her full lips and she huffed out a bitter laugh even as tears began their slow slide down her cheeks. Turning, she faced Sara, making one last attempt to leave the past where it belonged – in the past. "Do we have to go through all this now? What will it solve?"

"It may not solve anything," Sara choked out, dragging her hands through her hair. "But I know, deep down, that I have to come to terms with it so I can move past it. I need to put it behind me so I can have a life." Laura began to slowly shake her head back and forth, but Sara held up a hand to stop her from speaking. "I need to know why it had to end like it did. I need to know that I'm not as damaged as I feel."

"Sara," her mother interjected, "you _are not_ damaged. Look at you," she waved a hand in her daughter's direction. "You're a strong, brilliant, beautiful woman. You are _everything_ I never was."

"That's not true." Sara argued, her voice rising as anger surged through her. "I can't do the job. I can't be the woman Gil deserves. I can't let it go."

"Fine," Laura bit out, as her anger floated to the surface. "You want to know, I'll tell you." Drawing herself up to her full height, back ramrod straight, she wiped the tears from her face. "I did it for you. And for Josh." She paused for a long moment before adding, "I may not have been the best mother in the world but I knew that I couldn't let it continue. The two of you deserved better."

Sara could feel her heart hammering. She was on the cusp of something far scarier than anything she had ever faced. For better or worse, nothing would ever be the same. Her hands trembled and she pressed them against her aching stomach. Finally she managed to choke out, "Why? Why that day? Why not before?"

Even as she asked the question, as she took another tiny step toward the truth, Sara steeled herself against the answer. She was so close. Close enough to taste the fear. Invisible to the eye, her whole body began to tremble. Her mouth was dry, drier than she could ever remember, drier even than when she was lost in the desert. She ran her tongue over her lips in an effort to wet them.

The silence was deafening, but in her head, Sara could hear a voice whispering, "Please don't tell me. Please don't tell me." The words short and choppy, anxiety evident in every desperate syllable.

Turning away from her daughter and the conflict written on her face, Laura once again rested her hands on the counter. She heaved a sigh and when she spoke her voice sounded old and frail, tired beyond her years. "Because he raped you." Her narrow shoulders began to shake with the sobs racking her body.

Sara covered her mouth with her hand in an effort to hold in the cry of anguish that was rising in her chest. She wasn't sure she was ready for this, if she'd ever be ready. Until that moment, she had been able to tuck that memory away, hiding it from herself and everyone else, but not anymore. Now it was out there, standing in the kitchen of the B&B like the proverbial elephant. And the guilt that had been gnawing at her for more than half her life suddenly had fangs. It ripped through her body leaving a burning, bloody ache behind. For several long minutes there was no sound.

Finally, Sara broke the silence with a ragged, whisper. "It wasn't a nightmare."

Laura merely shook her head, unable to force words out through her sobs.

"So, it was my fault." The words were sad and resigned, so quiet they were almost inaudible.

"What?" Laura spun around, her braid flying out behind her, eyes wide and confused. "How could you think that?"

Standing, Sara began to pace, her movements jerky and uncoordinated, bare feet silent on the linoleum. "I should have fought harder. If I had…if I had stopped him, he wouldn't be dead."

"Oh, my sweet baby girl," Laura murmured, moving over to stand in front of Sara, stopping her frantic movement. Putting her hands on the younger woman's shoulders, she looked directly into her eyes. "You were a child…_my_ child. It was my job to protect you and I failed. None of this, and I mean NONE of it, is your fault."

"Logically I know that. But," Sara's hand came up to thump against her chest, "in here it feels like it belongs to me."

"I can't absolve you, Sara. I'm not a priest. But I was there and I can tell you that the fault for your father's death belongs only to me and to him." Laura's shoulders sagged and her hands slid from Sara's shoulders as if her arms were too heavy to stay aloft any longer. Slowly, she made her way to a chair and slipped into it.

"The years before Josh are really a blur." Her eyes were looking straight ahead but she wasn't seeing anything but the pictures inside her mind. "We settled in. We met our neighbors and made friends. Mike had a job working at a service station." She turned her head slowly, her eyes struggling to focus on Sara. "He was a really good mechanic, you know."

Again her gaze turned inward. "I was waitressing. We were the life of every party. We were stoned most of the time. Never anything more than a little pot, maybe some hash. We were right where we wanted to be."

"But then I got pregnant and had to quit work. Money got a little tight and the drinking started." Laura looked up surprised to see Sara still pacing. "Come sit down. I've got more to say."

Sara hesitated, fighting the need to keep moving, before sliding into the chair she had left only a few minutes earlier. "I'm listening."

Laura looked at Sara, surprised at the flatness of her tone and her eyes. The disdain. The disbelief. It was hard to reconcile that with the woman who had laughed and cried with her over the past couple of weeks. It reminded her of the cops that had interviewed her all those years ago. Once again, she realized that life was full of irony and God really did have a sense of humor.

"Suddenly it wasn't just the two of us. We had Josh and he needed things; more shoes, more milk, more clothes, toys, a bike. And money got tighter still. Before long I was pregnant again and then the recession happened. Mike lost his job. And things just got worse.

"I loved him, you know." Her words were weary, heavy but her eyes glowed with something soft and feminine, something Sara had seen countless times in battered faces, "More than I had ever loved another person. More than I loved myself or my children. It was all consuming. All I wanted was for him to love me too. So I thought if I could be better, do things the way he liked, he would love me.

"I know it's not true – now. But when you live like that you get caught up in it." Laura once more clasped Sara's hand, her words spilling out in a torrent. "It's a cycle. The pain, the apologies, the fear, the love. They become entangled in your mind until you believe that one is necessary in order to have the other.

"I had no friends. I had no family. I had no one but Mike; he made sure of that." Tears ran down her cheeks, falling unheeded onto her blouse, leaving black splotches on the brown fabric. "The first time he hit me I told myself it was an accident. The first time he hit Josh I swore it wouldn't happen again. The first time he hit you I was too far into the bourbon to give it a second thought. When he…when I realized he had molested you I knew we needed to get out but I had nowhere to go." She flinched when Sara jerked away the hand she had been holding. Swallowing back sobs, she continued, "Surely, in your line of work, you've heard this story a thousand times, Sara. Mine just didn't end as well as some."

"Why not just leave?" Sara ran her hands through her hair, using the heels of her hands to massage her temples. "Why not go to a shelter? Or back to your parents?"

Laura's smile was sad, her pain obvious. "Whether you want to believe it or not, I did try…but maybe that's something you've heard a thousand times, too." She sighed. "My parents disowned me…would always hang up when I called." Chewing on the corner of her lip, she shrugged. "I guess they were determined to make me pay for my rash decision." Taking a deep breath, Laura met Sara's fierce gaze unflinchingly. "So, when it came down to it, I couldn't let you pay for my choices either, Sara. At least not any more than you had paid already."

Sara swallowed, torn between wanting to stop and needing to go on. "A shelter?"

"Domestic violence wasn't something you talked about back then. Nobody wanted to be involved in other people's personal lives." Taking a long drink from her now warm root beer, Laura sighed again. "I didn't know what else to do, Sara. I had no one. I had no car, no driver's license. There may have been shelters, but I didn't know where they were and even if I had known, I wouldn't have been able to get there."

She shut her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, her eyelashes were wet. "I know it sounds ridiculous now, but at the time I really thought it was the only way out, the only way to save us." The look on her face was one of overwhelming pain and sadness. "Please believe me when I say I'm sorry."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 16**

**December 25, 2007**

_Anemic winter sunlight filters around the edges of the curtains. The air is cool, but underneath the blankets there is an island of warmth. I am curled around Renee; her soft skin pressing against me from the tops of my feet to the middle of my chest. Her hair, a riot of messy curls, tickles my chin. I tighten my arm around her, pulling her tighter, pressing my morning erection against the cleft of her firm buttocks._

"_Ummmmmmmmm," a low murmur of contentment escapes her._

_I press a kiss to the top of her head. "Morning," I mumble against her hair. _

_Renee rolls over, smiling at me in the dimness of the room. Her hands are on my chest, her fingers feathering through the hair there. With a purr, she snuggles closer, sliding a slim leg between mine, running a smooth foot over my calf. I am surrounded by warm naked woman. And I am in heaven._

_My hands slip over her back, from her shoulders to the sweet curve of her ass. She is so warm and alive, so vibrant. I want her in every way a man can want a woman. I want to talk with her and laugh with her and make love with her until I am no more. She is my life._

_She kisses my chest; hot, wet, open kisses that send shivers down my spine. Her nimble fingers tease my nipples and she presses even closer. Her hands are moving now, slipping over my skin, lower and lower until her fingertips brush my erection. The air freezes in my lungs, my body trembling with the need only she can sate. _

"_Be careful." I tease her and her laugh, low and husky, is a warm puff of air on my skin._

"_And if I'm not?" she whispers, tilting her head to look at me. _

_Renee is smiling and her eyes are twinkling and I take a moment to simply look at her. Slowly, I lean forward and taste her smile, and it tastes like life. Then she is kissing me. And she is making a humming noise in her throat and sliding her breasts against me. Pulling her lips from mine, she nibbles along my jaw and down my neck. In that moment, I am at her mercy._

_Suddenly, she pushes against my shoulder, urging me to roll onto my back before she slides on top of me. I watch as she throws her head back, shaking her hair out of her face. I close my eyes for a moment, unable to comprehend the beauty before me. Some people claim that they know God is real because of the trees or the sunsets or the oceans. Not me. I know that God is real because I am fortunate enough to feast my eyes, my lips and hands, upon his greatest treasure. _

_Slowly, my eyes open and I drink her in. Her skin is alabaster; it shimmers in the soft light. Her slender arms and firm breasts, her flat stomach and silken thighs all combine to convince me that she was molded by the hand of the Almighty just for me, for my pleasure. _

"_God, Malachi, I need you." She grabs my hands, which have come to rest on her thighs, and brings them to her breasts. "Touch me."_

_I cup the firm flesh, loving the weight of her in my hands. Gently, reverently, I run my thumbs over her nipples; watching as her eyes slide closed. From the very first time she has responded to me like this. She makes me feel larger than life and I love her all the more for that. Her sex, the wet heat of it, the absolute perfection of it, is pressed against my hardness and I can feel her muscles quiver against me. I want so badly to be inside her, but I don't want to change a thing about this moment. Slowly, she begins to rock her hips, massaging every inch of me. _

_I feel the moan rising up from my chest, low and primal. "Ahhhhhhhhhh, sweet heart. What are you trying to do to me?" _

"_What do you want me to do?" Her voice is husky, but the words still tease. _

_She slides forward and pauses for a moment, teasing the sensitive tip of my penis. My words rumble out. "Whatever you want. Anything you want."_

_She rises up, hovering above me, and reaches between us. She takes me in her hand and guides me to her entrance. And then she slides down, inch by torturous inch, until I am inside her completely. Our bodies are a perfect fit; a tribute to God's planning. My hands have drifted to her hips and I urge her to move. Soon we are rocking together, her thighs lifting and lowering, while my fingers dig into her flesh._

_Faster and faster she moves, rocking her hips in a frenzy of lust. Once again, she brings my hand to her breast, but she is no longer in the mood for gentle or reverent. Instead, I roll her nipples between my fingers, pinching them to hard peaks. I know that she is close and I watch, enthralled, as she pushes her body nearer and nearer to orgasm. Watching her like that, as she rocks there atop my body, I say a prayer of thanks for having her in my life. Finally, I rise up and suck a hard nipple into my mouth. She convulses around me and I explode, pouring my seed deep inside her._

_We rest there, arms and legs entwined, until our breathing returns to normal. Silently, Renee slips from the bed and I slowly drift back to sleep._


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I don't own them.**

**A/N: A very special thanks to Mingsmommy, LosingInTranslation and Superlibn for the beta work.**

**December 25, 2007**

The table, draped with a deep red cloth, was decorated for the holiday. A beautiful arrangement of evergreen boughs, holly berries and slender white tapers was centered on the surface. The dishes were decorated with Christmas trees and holly leaves and edged in gold. The flatware gleamed in the candlelight and the crystal threw off prisms of light. Everything was absolutely perfect.

The food, more than two people could possibly eat, looked and smelled delicious. The earthy aroma of green beans mixed with the heady sweetness of sweet potato soufflé, making Sara's mouth water. The smell of yeast from the rolls hung heavy in the air. And, underneath it all, the deeper scent of roasting tofurkey and gravy. Laura bustled around, putting the finishing touches on their meal.

The clink of silverware striking plates was the only sound, and even that was proving too much for Sara to cope with. Carefully, she rested her fork on the table and leaned back in her chair. Laura looked up, studying her intently before she too, gave up all pretense of eating. Thankfully, only blessed silence remained.

"This was a mistake." Laura's voice was low and wistful. "I'm sorry, Sara."

"It wasn't your mistake. It was mine." Sara picked up the roll that adorned one edge of her plate like a misshapen bow and began to pick it apart with her fingers. "Everything is delicious."

Both women were quiet again, waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Laura couldn't wait anymore. "Tell me about him."

Eyes wide with surprise, Sara looked up. "Tell you about Grissom? About Gil?"

"Don't look so shocked, Sara." Laura chuckled. "It's only fair. I've told you about Mike and how we met and how I came to be here. I've missed most of your life. So, don't you think you could do the same for me?"

Abandoning the roll, Sara picked up her fork and began to drag a green bean around her plate, making patterns in the gravy just to watch them fill in again, as if her passing didn't matter. "It's not some epic love story."

Again, Laura watched her daughter. She took in the tight set to her mouth, the slump of her shoulders, the anguish in her eyes. "'We loved with a love that was more than love.'"

Sara sat stunned for a moment before bursting into laughter. "You're quoting Poe? About my love life?"

"It's a great quote and you know it!" Laura laughed along with her. "He was very perceptive."

"For a drug addict." Sara couldn't stop the grin that was tugging at the corners of her mouth. "It's a great sentiment."

"So, tell me." Laura's grin matched her daughter's. "Tell me about the man who's captured your heart."

Sara grew quiet again, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Her smile grew softer, and her eyes took on a faraway look. There were so many things about Gil, so many things about their relationship that she didn't really know where to begin. The first time she saw him? The way he took her breath away? His intensity and drive? How he was the one person who pushed her as hard as she pushed herself? His tenderness? His unexpected playfulness? There were so many good things about him that she didn't know where to begin.

"He must be really something." Laura's smile was soft.

"I met Gil at a seminar." Once again Sara laid her fork down and rested her chin on her clasped hands. "I was working in San Francisco so it was about ten years ago."

Laura's eyebrow rose. "I thought you said this wasn't an epic."

"We aren't the brightest two people when it comes to this kind of stuff." Seeing her mother fighting back a laugh Sara smiled. "Okay. So we're really bad at it, but it works for us."

Laura chuffed out a laugh and motioned for Sara to continue.

"He was speaking at this seminar that I attended for a forensics conference. And…" Sara could feel the blush rising on her cheeks and she ducked her head, staring at her plate.

"And what, Sara?" Laura smiled. "He has two heads? A third eye?"

She looked up, the love in her eyes unmistakable. "And he took my breath away."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

She had sent gifts for both him and Hank; two big boxes that arrived a week early. Inside there was a note in her scrawl, telling him not to open them until Christmas morning. And he had done as instructed. After getting up around noon and making breakfast, he and Hank sat in the living room with the television tuned to "A Christmas Story" and opened their gifts.

As he pulled each small package from the shipping boxes, Grissom became aware of how barren this holiday really was. No tree. No cinnamon candles. No French toast or hot chocolate or egg nog. Just a man and a dog and a movie that played only once a year.

Hank's packages contained new bones and toys and treats and a leash. Grissom carefully unwrapped each gift, placing each on the couch beside him. Finally, he gave Hank a rawhide and began opening his own presents.

Each box contained a special note, some funny, some poignant, each written just for him. With a smile he held up a new flannel robe. The card told him it was to replace the one she took to San Francisco with her. The next box was a pair of pajama pants with polar bears on them. Not something he would have picked out, but he would wear them because they were from Sara. There was a pound of Kona coffee. And underneath it all rested a long slim box.

This last one he held onto, turning it over and over in his hands. Not wanting to finish opening the gifts because that would mean that he had officially spent Christmas alone. Finally, reluctantly, he pulled the tiny envelope off the package and slid the note card out.

_Gil,_

_This is something I picked up in a little antique shop in San_

_Francisco. It brought to mind one of my favorite memories of us. I promise, when I get home, we'll put this to good use. Hope that you love this as much as I do._

_Sara_

Curious now, Grissom once more flipped the box over in his hands. Slowly, he began to loosen the tape, opening each fold until a plain white box was revealed. Wiggling the lid, he slid it off and his breath caught. Nestled inside, on dark blue velvet, was a pearl handled straight razor. Carefully, he reached in and lifted it from the box, weighing it in his hand, appreciating the balance of the instrument. The pearl was warm against his skin and the blade gleamed in the light. It truly was beautiful. But the smile on his face was as much from the memory it evoked, as from the gift itself.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Sometime during Sara's story, the dishes had been cleared and the food put away. But the women had returned to the table with large wedges of apple pie and cups of freshly brewed coffee.

"So, is he any good?" Laura asked, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

"What?!" Sputtering, Sara wiped her mouth with her hand. "Did you just ask me…? Oh my God."

Laughter, low and throaty, rippled from both women. "Well, he takes your breath away and he's smart and he's handsome and he's kind and he's everything every man should be. But if he's not good in the sack then…" Laura shrugged at the helplessness of such a situation.

Unable to meet her mother's eyes, cheeks burning in embarrassment, Sara simply nodded.

Ducking her head, Laura tried to catch her daughter's gaze. "Is that a yes?"

Sara looked up and grinned. "But don't expect details."

Picking up her cup, Laura mumbled, "Darn."

Both women dissolved into giggles. The tension that had plagued the beginning of their meal was gone. For the first time, ever, they were a family.

"Go home, Sara." Laura sobered, taking a sip of coffee.

Shaking her head, Sara began toying with the piece of pie crust left on her dessert plate. "I can't go back yet. We've been over that part. I need to take care of this."

So many things had gone wrong in her own life. So many bad decisions that brought her here, to this place, at this time, with this wonderful creature she helped to create. For a moment Laura struggled to find the words to tell Sara. She didn't want her to waste any more time on what had been, but to focus on what was ahead of her. Then she remembered something she had read in a book by James Hillman. "'If you are still being hurt by an event that happened to you at twelve, it is the thought that is hurting you now.' And no matter how traumatic that event was that statement still holds."

Sara's fork began a quick rat-a-tat on the plate. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Laura reached over and placed her hand over Sara's, stilling the nervous movements. "Sara, my dear girl, you can always come back. But you've left unfinished business there. You left your future to find your past. And you _found_ me." Laura's smile was gentle, loving. "Go home. I'm not going anywhere."

With a nod, Sara said, "I'll think about it. I promise."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Christmas was never quiet at a crime lab. Some people probably thought the criminals would take a day off. But that wasn't true. There were always scenes to be processed; prints collected, trace discovered, destruction photographed. And, just like every other day, there was paperwork to be completed. That is why Grissom found himself sitting behind his desk at seven o'clock, sipping coffee and signing off on the cases that had made it to his in box.

Occasionally, he would hear the no-nonsense clump of boots coming down the hall and he would look up only to be disappointed when it was Nick or Greg. Wearily, he tugged off his glasses and tossed them on the blotter. Leaning back, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. For a moment, he allowed himself to miss her. But just for a moment. Anything longer and he wouldn't be able to stop.

Reaching over, he opened the top right drawer of his desk and slid aside the box containing his mother's rosary. He picked up the framed photo and a wistful smile tilted the corners of his lips. The smile on Sara's face was like the sun, beaming out at him from the frame. Taken just a week before she left, they had gone to dinner at Mikado and had been leaving The Mirage when Sara spotted the photographer. She teased him until he agreed to have their picture made. The next day, she put it in a frame and gave it to him for his desk. And like the fool he could sometimes be, he'd hidden it in a drawer.

Resolutely, Grissom pushed the drawer closed and placed the picture of him and Sara on his desk. Lifting his head, he reached for his glasses. He had just picked up the next file when Brass walked in.

"Evening, Gil." Brass' sharp eyes studied his friend. "How are you?"

Raising an eyebrow, Grissom grinned. "I'm fine."

Shaking his head at the obstinacy of the man in front of him, Brass merely changed tactics. "Heather thought you might not get a real Christmas dinner. She sent you a plate. It's in the break room with your name on it."

For a moment, Grissom was speechless. Finally, he nodded. "Please thank her for me."

"Yeah, well, we…uh…we had a lot of leftovers. So it wasn't a big deal." He cleared his throat. "I would have invited you but…"

"I wouldn't have come." Grissom leaned back, rubbing his lips with a fingertip. "I turned down Al and Judy. Catherine, too."

"Figures." Brass reached forward and picked up the picture frame. He studied the photo for a moment. "She looks so happy there."

Grissom found himself nodding, even though they both knew the truth. "She was happy. In that moment, I think she was very happy."

"You should go to her." Holding up a hand to ward off the excuses he knew were coming, Brass hurried on, "No matter what she says, Gil. You don't have to drag her back. Just go for a visit. Ease your mind."

Despite his desire to change the subject, Grissom found himself replying. "I just need to clear up a few things here. Then I'll think about it." When Brass merely looked skeptical, he continued, "I promise."


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Many, many thanks to LosingInTranslation and Mingsmommy for their beta work on this. And to those who push me to finish each chapter - I am forever greatful!

**December 28, 2007**

"Suxamethonium chloride." Grissom's face wore a self-satisfied smirk as he slid into the chair in front of Doc Robbins' desk.

"Excuse me?" Looking up from the report he was reading Al Robbins quirked an eyebrow in question.

"I believe that's how he's killing them."

Slowly, Al straightened and dropped his pen on the desk. He leaned back in his chair and scratched his beard. "Where'd you come up with that?"

Grissom ran a finger over his lips, trying to suppress his smile. "Discovery."

"That Angel of Death special?" Al's eyes twinkled. "I loved that one. Can't believe I didn't think of it. I must be getting old."

"At least we have something to work with now."

Leaning forward, Al shook his head. "There's only one problem…"

"We have no way to test for it." Grissom nodded. "I know."

"No, no. The problem is the cost."

Grissom chuffed out a laugh. "Same thing."

Al thought for a moment. "Let me make some calls. I still have friends at Johns Hopkins, maybe I can work something out."

"Even if we prove the how we're not any closer to who." The frustration he felt was evident in his voice. "I just need a break. Just one little thing that points in Dr. Rosenthal's direction."

Turning worried eyes to his friend, Al sighed. "Maybe we're seeing things where nothing really exists."

"Why do you say that?" Grissom caught the glint in Al's eyes, the one that screamed pity. "I'm not looking for something to replace her, Al. You know as well as I do that somebody is killing these women. You _are_ the one who brought it to my attention."

"Yeah." Once again, Al studied Grissom, the set of his jaw, the fire in his eyes. "You know what? Forget it."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

**December 29, 2007**

The night had been interminable. Not from lack of work but because he couldn't keep his mind on the task at hand. Grissom was…jittery. He tried to think of a better way to describe how he felt, but there really wasn't another word. He was on edge, his mind running in circles, unable to be still even when he was sitting. Several times during the course of the shift he'd considered checking his pulse, but figured that would only make things worse. Instead, he tried every technique he had ever used to relax, but nothing worked. And all that deep breathing and attempting to clear his mind only made him more irritated.

With a sigh, he let himself into the house. The click of nails on the tile floor warned him of Hank's impending arrival. Even his bad mood couldn't stand up against the excited boxer. Hank appeared and gave a short bark before dancing around in circles at his master's feet. Jumping up, he put his paws on Grissom's shoulders and gave him a slobbery kiss.

"Down, boy." Grissom tried to sound firm despite the smile that was spreading across his face. "Come on, Hank, down." Gently, he pushed the boxer off him and bent to scratch his ears. Giving him one final pat, Grissom moved around him to drop his keys on the table just inside the door. Quickly, he moved through the space to the back door. He opened it and let Hank out into the backyard.

The early morning sun was filtering through the bare branches of the huge elm, leaving large patches of sunlight on the patio. He stood in one of those patches, hands shoved in his pockets to keep them warm, watching as Hank made a circuit of the fence, sniffing for predators, lifting his leg every so often to mark the space as his. Grissom grinned as he watched the dog, allowing some of the tension to leave his body. When Hank was done warning off all possible interlopers, he trotted over and leaned against Grissom's leg, his eyes scanning the area for squirrels and birds just in case any were brave enough to enter his territory. After a moment of breathing in the cool air, hoping to calm his nerves, Grissom went back inside the house. He fed Hank and then poured himself a bowl of cereal which he ate standing at the sink.

Grabbing a soda from the refrigerator and smiling ruefully at the twinge of guilt, Grissom took his briefcase into the office and flopped down in his desk chair. He popped the top and took a long drink before opening his briefcase and pulling out the file he had started on the murdered women. He flipped slowly through the autopsy reports and the reams of papers that always accompanied the body from the hospital to the morgue. When the last page was flipped, he leaned back in the chair and sighed in frustration. There was nothing, NOTHING that tied the women to Malachi Rosenthal. And given that the last woman had died in another hospital there was nothing to tie them to each other.

Exhausted but knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep with all the questions flying around in his brain, Grissom did the one thing that had brought him peace since Sara's abduction. Whistling for Hank, he grabbed his keys off the table and headed out the door. Forty-five minutes later he was once again at the access road that led into Red Rock Canyon, the place Natalie had taken Sara. Oddly enough the place had become a haven for him, somewhere to get in touch with things he had thought put to rest. Even before Sara left, he had gone there. And while they never talked about it, he was sure that she knew and she understood, better than he did himself, what he was doing. Maybe subconsciously he had known something was wrong and he had been trying to find answers he should have been looking for at home.

Quickly he maneuvered the Denali out across the dirt. People thought of the dessert as loose sand, but the Mojave was really more like baked mud, hard and unyielding. The tires crunched over the rocks as Grissom followed a rutted track to the northwest. Finally, he saw it; the gully, surrounded by rocks. The place where he almost lost her. He felt something in him unfurl at the sight of it. Stopping the car, he cut the engine and got out.

As he made his way forward, his shoes sending small clouds of dust skyward in his wake, he took a moment to look around. His eyes registered the soaring mountains with the distinctive red streak running through them. The sunlight spilled over the tops, casting long shadows across the valley floor. The quiet was absolute, all consuming. Once again he wondered if that was why Natalie picked this place. Maybe here she couldn't hear anything; not even the voices in her own head.

With Hank at his side, Grissom made his way to the high side of the furrow. Pushing his way through the scrub brush, he crouched and stared down into the maw. Nothing there to remind him of what had been, but still he saw it. The wreck of a car almost buried beneath the sand that had washed down from higher ground. In slow motion, his mind played back pictures of him and Nick clawing at the heavy, wet dirt. His own voice, screaming Sara's name, echoed off the hills. And just like that, everything else became less.

His mind clear, Grissom allowed himself to consider his next move with the dead women. He knew how they were being killed. He knew who was killing them. What he didn't know was how to prove it. What he needed was something, anything that would get him a warrant. The only thing that didn't fit, the one thing that stood out, was Jessica Williams.

"So call her family. Ask some questions." Sara's voice was so real he would have sworn she was there. "Something is wrong there, Grissom, and you know it."

With a smile, he nodded in agreement. Standing, he stretched and took a look around, awed by the stark beauty around him. With a whispered "thank you," he turned to begin his journey home.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Sleep and food helped to improve Grissom's disposition. He felt better, more in control, than he had in weeks. His hand hesitated for just a second before he picked up the telephone and began to dial.

"Hello?" The disembodied voice floated from the receiver.

"Mr. Williams?" Grissom paused long enough to hear the man's grunt of agreement. "This is Gil Grissom with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I'd like to come by and speak to you if that's okay."


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Many, many thanks to LosingInTranslation, Mingsmommy and Superlibn who helped me with this. I really couldn't have done it without them.

**December 30, 2007**

_The hallway is deserted. The recycled air is cold and a little stale, but I'm used to it. It is in my blood, my very bones, and I cannot imagine not being surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and human suffering. _

_It has been two weeks since I met Doctor Gil Grissom and I keep waiting for his next move, for the other shoe to drop. I have done my homework. I know who he is, what he is. And I fear what he can do to me. _

_I make my way to the nurse's station, my footsteps silent on the gleaming floor tiles. The fluorescent lights beam down from overhead, moving my shadow from front to back as I pass under each one. I am transfixed by the play of light and dark. I see my shadow as a representation of the passage of time, constantly moving, ever changing, but always there. I am so caught up in my musings that I fail to realize I have reached my destination._

"_Dr. Rosenthal?" Elizabeth's nasal tones snatch me back to the present. "Is everything okay?"_

_Turning my head, I take in her porcine form. "Everything is fine."_

_She giggles and bats her eyes. Why does she not realize that hearing that sound coming from her is akin to watching a cat and dog mate? I try to keep the disgust off my face, but something must have seeped through, because she recoils as though I have slapped her. Dammit! My control is slipping. I need some time. I need some time away from this place and all its heartache. _

_Brushing off the uncertainty, I draw myself up. "I just need to update some charts and then I'll be out of your way."_

_With a nod, she turns back to her computer. And another rock takes up residence in my belly. While I may not have time for her simpering, I understand its usefulness. I know I will have to make it up to her and I dread it with every fiber of my being. To flirt with her, to compliment her, goes against my very nature. But I will. I will do it, because sometimes we must sacrifice for the Lord. _

_I work in silence, scribbling notes, checking charts. When I'm done, I stand and slip my pen into my pocket. I want so badly to leave without a word, to walk away. But I know that would not be prudent. Instead, I place a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder and apologize. "Elizabeth, I didn't mean to snap at you earlier."_

_She cringes, drawing away from me, as if my touch burns. "You didn't snap." She stares at me and in her eyes I can see something I have never seen before; hurt and anger. "No need to apologize."_

"_I've just had a really bad night and I'm a little tired. You startled me and I was afraid I snapped." I gaze at her, giving her what I hope is a soulful look. "If I offended you, I'm sorry."_

_She does not answer me, merely gives a tight nod and returns to her work. My anger is boiling just below the surface and I know that I must get as far away from her as possible. First a fight with Renee and now this. How much can a man take? Rounding the corner of the desk, I turn my back to her and begin to walk away, muttering under my breath, "Insipid cow."_

_If I had been paying attention, I would have seen her face harden as the words floated back to her. I would have seen her look at me as if I were something to be scraped off the bottom of her shoe. _

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Grissom rang the doorbell of the small stucco house. He looked around, noting the line of cookie cutter homes marching up and down both sides of the street. The same plantings, the same toys in the yard and, inside, the same mom and dad and two point three children. But not for this house. This house would never again be just like all the others.

The opening of the door drew Grissom back from his inspection of the neighborhood. His eyes automatically swept over the man; around forty, dark hair, blue eyes, a little overweight, and haggard. He tried to muster a smile, but his mouth merely twitched at the corners.

"Can I help you?" The voice was quiet, almost monotone.

"Mr. Williams? I'm Gil Grissom, with the Crime Lab."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stepped back and opened the door wider. "I…um…I'm sorry, I forgot you were coming. Come in, please."

Grissom stepped inside and looked around. The place was just as small as it appeared from the outside. A tiny foyer fed directly into a family room. A hallway to the left obviously led to the bedrooms. A dining room was at the back of the house and there was a pass through to the kitchen. Compact, but clean and well cared for, with a feeling of emptiness that no amount of furniture could fill. Family photos of the man, a little boy with carrot colored hair, and a red haired woman were scattered about.

Rodney Williams motioned Grissom toward a brown leather couch that, along with the matching loveseat, was too big for the room. Sitting down, Grissom studied the man across from him, letting the silence run out just a moment too long. "I'm sorry to intrude on you but I wanted to ask you a few questions."

"Questions about what?" Rodney leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders.

Grissom felt a twinge of guilt for bringing even more pain into this house, but he relentlessly pushed that aside. With a quiet sigh, he began to explain why he was there.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

_Anger lights a fire in my chest as I make my way out of the hospital. Climbing behind the wheel of my car I back out of the parking place and head for home. My surgical shift will not start until later and for that I am grateful. As I drive, I keep hearing Renee's voice in my head._

"_Are you sure nothing is bothering you, Malachi?" _

_I did not want to answer, so I pushed another forkful of peas into my mouth and nodded. But she refused to let it go. Instead, I felt her eyes on me, searching for something I did not want her to find. Finally, I stopped eating. _

"_What?" What did she really want? _

_And then she said something that just ripped a hole in my gut. "You're lying to me."_

_Those quiet words crawled under my skin and wormed their way along my nerve endings, straight to my brain. I was not ready to deal with her. So, I dropped my fork and shoved my chair back. Picking up my plate, I took it in to the kitchen._

_But her voice followed me. "Walking away isn't going to change whatever it is. Tell me, Malachi. You can tell me anything."_

"_There's nothing to tell, Renee." I kept my voice low and even, trying to pacify her. "Just let it go."_

_She touched me then, a whisper between my shoulder blades, and I jerked away. "I can't let it go. Whatever it is, it's eating you up inside." Then her hand brushed my arm. "I hate to see you this way."_

"_What way, Renee?" My control was slipping, little by little, and my voice became rough, hard._

"_Upset. Worried." I refused to look at her, but I could not block out the words. "Just tell me what's bothering you." I could feel her eyes on me; probing, pushing, gazing into my very soul. "Have you done something?"_

"_Done something?" The words almost choked me on the way out. "What do you think I've done?" I looked at her then, and I saw fear in her eyes. "Stop looking at me like that! Like you don't know me!"_

_Not until she flinched, did I realize I was screaming, but it felt good. All that rage rolling around inside me suddenly came boiling to the surface, and I was screaming at her. _

"_Are you afraid of me, Renee?!" _

_I heard her whisper. "No."_

"_No? Well maybe you should be. Maybe you don't know me. Maybe you don't want to."_

"_No." Her voice trembled. "I'm not afraid of you. You're my husband and I love you."_

_The anger seemed to leech out of me and I slid a hand over my face, vainly trying to block out her accusing stare. "Then just leave me alone. That's all, leave me alone."_

_I am so caught up in my memory of last night's argument that I fail to notice the police car behind me, until the bleat of his siren snaps me back to the present._

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

It was a busy night. Drunks fighting in three different bars, a convenience store and a local movie theater both robbed at gun point, one rape and a vehicular homicide just to get things started. With Sara gone, the shift was stretched thin. After handing out the first round of assignments Grissom hit the road, stopping only long enough to direct the CSI's from one scene to another.

He barely had time to breathe, much be concerned about the look on Rodney Williams' face when he'd left. The poor man appeared…shell shocked. There really wasn't another word for the slack jawed, wide-eyed stare the man had given him. Ignoring the worry that was niggling at the base of his spine, Grissom worked his way from one scene to the next.

It was almost six in the morning when his phone rang for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Muttering a curse, he pulled it off his belt and checked the display. When he saw Ecklie's name he gave a resigned sigh as he flipped the phone open and tucked it between his ear and shoulder.

"Grissom," he barked.

"Gil," Ecklie snapped, "where are you?"

Eyebrow rising at the man's tone, Grissom answered calmly. "At a scene, Conrad. That is what you pay me for, right?"

"How long until you're back here?"

Casting a look around at the line of people who still to be printed, Grissom sighed. "Probably two hours. Is there something you need?"

"Yeah. I need you to come by my office before you leave for the day." Ecklie paused for a moment. "And don't blow me off, Gil. This is important." With that he broke the connection.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you to LiT, Mingsmommy and Superlibn for their work on this. They make this very easy!

**December 31, 2007**

Sara came awake with a jolt, her body jerking forcibly from the land of ether. Something was wrong. She could feel it. Her heart jumped up into her throat and her mind instantly flew to Grissom. Without pausing to check the time, she picked up her phone from the bedside table and dialed his number. When his voicemail picked up she waited impatiently until she could leave a message.

Glancing at the clock she realized it was almost nine o'clock. Her first thought was that he should be at home by now. But then she realized she was kidding herself. He could try to pretend he wasn't working too much but she knew better. She knew he was pulling doubles and she carried her fair share of guilt over that.

With a sigh she clambered out of bed and hurried into the bathroom. Emerging a few minutes later, she dressed in her favorite jeans and a heavy fisherman's sweater, grabbed up her phone and went into the kitchen to make coffee. She placed the phone on the counter so it would be close, and she continuously glanced at it, as if she could will it to ring.

Coffee cup in one hand and cell phone in the other, Sara opened the back door and stepped onto the deck. The sky was gray and the clouds seemed close enough to touch. Heavy and full of rain, they loomed overhead and blocked out the sun. She curled into a chair and tucked her feet underneath her for warmth. The small lawn sloped down to a narrow strip of sand that was dotted with rocks. Waves, the same steel gray as the sky, ran forward and broke with a crash before hurrying back toward the horizon. Usually, the constant motion soothed her but not today.

She was on her second cup of coffee when unease forced her up and out of the chair to pace along the deck. Cradling the cup she stopped for a moment to watch a lone gull. Perched atop the largest rock, he stood perfectly still and stared straight out to sea. She let her eyes travel to the horizon, searching for whatever held the bird's attention. But the only things she saw were water and sky and the vastness of it all.

She turned from the view and cursed the silence of the phone. With a sigh, she stalked over and snatched it off the chair. Dialing Grissom's number she listened to the ringing. The call went unanswered and she snapped the device closed in frustration.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Two hours turned into two and a half and Grissom was exhausted when he dropped off the stack of ten cards with the day shift print tech for entering into the system. He headed to his office to get his briefcase, when he practically ran into Ecklie.

"Gil," Ecklie shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, "I thought you left."

Stopping short, he shook his head. "No, Conrad, I just got back." Turning tired eyes to his supervisor, he asked, "Can this wait until tomorrow?"

"Let's go to your office then." Ecklie waved him forward. "This really can't wait."

Grissom walked through the door and around behind the desk. He settled into his chair and gestured Ecklie into one across from him. "Have a seat. What can I do for you?"

Ecklie took a moment to gather his thoughts, his eyes scanning the specimens that were scattered around the room. With a soft grunt, he turned his eyes back to Grissom. "Gil, I got a call last night, late last night."

Remaining silent, Grissom simply watched him. Ecklie shifted in his chair, crossing his legs and making sure the crease in his pant leg was set. "The call was from my neighbor, Joseph Williams. I think you've met his son."

What started as irritation on Grissom's part quickly turned into dread. Obviously Rodney Williams had called his parents after Grissom's visit. He schooled his features into a blank mask, determined to give nothing away. "You obviously know I have, Conrad."

"What were you thinking? You can't just go into a man's house and suggest that somebody murdered his wife." Ecklie's voice was calm but his hands were clenched. "You're lucky they called me and not the sheriff."

Grissom leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was far too tired to deal with this. All he wanted was to go home and sleep. Raising an eyebrow, he waited for Ecklie to continue.

"Gil, I'm not sure what's going on with you anymore. I mean, I…uh…I know about Sidle. of course, but you aren't the kind of guy who goes off on some wild tangent." He offered up a weak smile, his lips twisting. "At least, not in years."

Still, Grissom remained silent, unsure of which tangent the man was referring to. Finally, he shrugged and said, "If I had it to do again, I wouldn't do anything different, Conrad." The words seemed to fit whatever situation Ecklie might have been talking about. And he liked to think he would still make the same decisions if faced with the same set of circumstances.

For a time, the room was silent. The two men watched each other, wary, unsure of where this conversation was headed. Finally, with a sigh of what could only be regret, Ecklie began to speak.

"Look, Gil," Ecklie paused and ran a hand over his eyes. "I would like to think that we've put our differences behind us. I mean, I know what you're going through."

Grissom's eyebrow climbed higher. "Do you?"

"Come on, Gil. I've been dumped by a girlfriend before."

"Wife." The word was so soft that it was almost swallowed by the faint noises of the lab outside the door. "And I wasn't dumped."

His mouth dropped open and Ecklie gaped at Grissom. "What? When?"

With a tired smile, Grissom shrugged. "About a month before she left."

Closing his mouth with a snap, Ecklie shook his head. "Does anybody know?" Then he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "You know what? It doesn't matter. We'll deal with this later."

Grissom nodded. "If we're done here, I'd like to go home. I need to get some sleep. It's going to be a busy night."

"Gil, I think you need to take some time off." Ecklie watched Grissom's reaction.

"It's New Year's Eve. I'm down one CSI and Nick has the night off." Grissom shook his head. "I have five active cases from last night alone. I can't take any time off right now."

Standing, Ecklie smoothed his jacket and adjusted his sleeves. "It's not a suggestion, Gil."

Brows drawing together in a frown, Grissom said, "I'm not sure I understand. I can probably take a few days off in a week or so. But not right now."

"Look," Ecklie took a step forward, crowding the desk. He kept his voice low and even. "I understand that you're under a lot of pressure. But you can't just go around creating cases where there aren't any. You can't go around upsetting people in order to fill up your empty time."

"Is that what you really think I'm doing?" Grissom remained seated, gazing up at Ecklie, refusing to be drawn into an argument that neither of them would win.

Ecklie stood there, his gaze fixed on Grissom. Finally, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Gil. I won't change my mind. You either take five days off or…I'll have to suspend you."

"On what grounds?" Grissom's voice was low, his anger barely contained.

"Does it matter?" Ecklie turned and walked to the door. Pausing, he turned and looked back. "Just take the time, Gil. Get your head together and I'll see you in a week."

Grissom's hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, but he held onto his temper and his tongue. "What about my shift?"

"I'll call Catherine." Pushing his hands into his pockets, he asked in voice that was firm but not unkind, "What should I tell her, Gil?"

Pushing to his feet, Grissom pursed his lips and thought for a moment. "Tell her you suspended me."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Brass tossed his phone on the coffee table and leaned back against the cushions of the couch. With a sigh, he scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Everything okay?" Heather came in from the kitchen, a mug of tea in her hand.

He shook his head and shrugged. "That was Catherine. Gil got himself suspended this morning."

Sitting down on the other end of the couch, she curled into the corner. "What happened?"

"She didn't know, but I'd be willing to go five large it was about those women who died at St. Rose."

Heather brought the cup to her mouth, blowing across the surface of the drink to cool it. She took a sip. "What are you going to do?"

"Not much I can do." Once again, he scrubbed a hand over his face. "If I know Gil, he'll be pouting for a while. Then he'll go right ahead and do what got him in trouble in the first place."

Nodding, she took another sip. "Why don't you call Sara?"

"Call Sara?" Jim shook his head. "And tell her what?"

"The truth, James. Tell her what's been going on." When he continued to shake his head, she continued in her best imitation of is gravelly New Jersey accent, "I'd be willing to go five large that she doesn't have a clue."

He chuckled and then grew serious. "You think she's gonna run back just because he's in trouble?"

Heather thought back to that day in the hospital, letting the images of the two wash over her. With a smile and a nod, she said, "Yes. I do."

"Tell you what. I'll take that bet." Jim grinned and picked up the phone, finding her number and pushing the button to dial it. It rang once before her familiar, throaty voice came over the speaker. Before she could finish her hello he was speaking. "Sara? It's Brass. We have a problem."


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Thanks to LiT, Mingsmommy and Superlibn for the beta work. I truly appreciate all they do. This link will explain the dream that Grissom has a little further down - if you're interested. www.hmk.on.ca/plantmeanings.html

**December 31, 2007**

_I hold the thin yellow page in a hand that still shakes. A speeding ticket. How could I have been so careless? So brainless? It was a beginner's mistake, plain and simple. It is the kind of mistake that could get a man locked up for life, or worse. It is the type of mistake I cannot afford to make. _

_I hear Renee moving around the house. I want her to be quiet, to be still. And I feel guilty for taking out my problems on her. I love her and want her with me always, but right now, until the threat of Gil Grissom is put behind me, I need to be alone. I need to think and I can't, not with all the noise she is making. I want so badly to tell her my troubles. To explain my behavior. Instead, I close my eyes and I pray._

_I pray for strength and wisdom. I pray for patience. I pray for the souls of those whom I have saved and for those still needing my help. I pray for the souls of my mother and for my dear, sweet wife. And last, but not least, I pray for the power of the Lord to help me in defeating my enemy._

_As I commune with God, the noise of the world drops away and I find the peace I have been searching for. In the silence I hear his voice, God, speaking to me. "Never give up, my child. Never give up. You are the instrument of my Will." _

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Sara shoved the last of her things into a duffel bag and zipped it up. Picking it up, she slung the strap over her shoulder. Walking through the small cottage, making sure all the lights were off, she took a last look around for anything she might have missed. Satisfied with the status, she grabbed her purse and keys, and locked the door behind her.

The call from Brass scared her. Expecting either her mother or Grissom, Sara hadn't checked the caller id. So when the detective's familiar voice came through the speaker her stomach jumped into her throat and her mind immediately conjured up an image of Grissom hurt, bleeding, dead.

"What is it? What's wrong? Is it Grissom? Is he okay?" Even to her own ears she sounded terrified. And Brass must have picked up on it, because he immediately began to reassure her that Grissom was fine.

"Sara." She could hear him as he tried to talk over her, but the questions kept tumbling from her lips. Finally, he all but yelled her name. "Sara! He's fine."

She had actually been shaking all over when he barked at her. "Are you sure?"

"I promise." For a moment the only sound was her ragged breathing, while they both waited for her to calm down. Then he asked, "Are you okay?"

Her chuff of laughter sounded hollow. "Yeah. I'm fine." She could still feel her heart beating in her throat, but the sick feeling had passed. "Tell me what's happened."

Brass started out by running through what he knew, outlining Grissom's determination to find the evidence of the women being murdered. Sara held her tongue, not letting on that she had heard all of it before, allowing him to tell the story in his own way. But when he got to the part about Grissom being suspended she couldn't control the gasp that escaped her.

"Why the hell did Ecklie suspend him?" Her anger bubbled over and her words were clipped.

Brass' voice sounded tired. "I don't know. Ecklie didn't tell Catherine and I haven't talked to Gil yet."

Sara was already in the bedroom, pulling the duffel out of the closet. The phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, she asked questions and listened to Brass' answers while she started packing. In the middle of it all, and despite the circumstances, she found herself enveloped in an overwhelming sense of peace. A peace she hadn't felt in…well, ever.

For the second time, she heard Brass call her name. And she thought she heard a woman's worried voice in the background.

"Sorry, Jim. I'm packing." She moved into the bathroom, grabbed her razor and toothbrush and threw them into the bag.

"So…you're coming back?" He had sounded so skeptical that it stopped her in her tracks.

Swallowing past the lump that had taken up residence in her throat she nodded. "Yeah. Of course."

"Don't come back just to leave him again." His voice was quiet, but she could hear the conviction. "I don't know that he'd survive it."

"You wouldn't have called me, if you didn't think I should be there." Her voice trembled with anger and guilt.

The sky began to spit rain as she started down the steps. She jogged over to the car, threw her bag in the back and checked her watch, noting that it was already noon. If she drove straight through she could be in Vegas by ten o'clock.

With one final glance at the roiling grey waters of the Pacific, she reversed out of the driveway and headed home. Home to Grissom and Hank and the rest of her family. With a smile on her face, she pointed her car southeast and didn't look back again.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

After talking with Eckile, Grissom left the lab and headed home. He went through his morning routine; letting Hank out, eating, taking a shower. Then he pulled out a bottle of scotch, a bottle of water and a tumbler and carried them to the living room. Sitting down on the couch he poured himself a drink. Two fingers of scotch and a splash of water.

The first sip burned. Not the painful burn of fire but the warm, welcome burn of an old flame. Grissom sat there alone, surrounded by all the things that reminded him of Sara and sipped from the glass.

He had screwed up…in so many ways; letting Sara down, crossing the line with Rodney Williams, believing he was capable of change. With a muttered curse, he tilted his head back and finished the first drink in a single of swallow. Relishing in the warmth that spread through his veins, the instant relaxation, he poured a second.

His phone rang incessantly, one call after another. Brass, Catherine…Catherine, Brass. One or two were even from Al. He kept waiting for one, or all of them to start banging on the door. But they didn't. He was surprised and grateful and, if he chose to admit it, a little sad. As much as he appreciated their concern, he wanted nothing more than to indulge in a little self-pity, drink a little scotch and get some sleep. Tomorrow he would decide what to do. Maybe he'd take all that free advice he'd been getting lately and go visit Sara. Maybe he'd even bring her home.

Draining the rest of his drink, he glanced at the bottle sitting on the coffee table. With a sigh, he set the glass down and pushed to his feet. Two was enough. Drinking away his problems had never been his style, although he could certainly understand the appeal.

He thought about calling Sara. He knew she would understand. He knew she would be supportive. But he didn't want to worry her. He didn't want her running back because he had done something stupid. So, in the end, he did what had always worked for him…nothing.

With his glass in the dishwasher and the scotch back in the cabinet, Grissom let Hank out for one last romp around the yard. Then, doors locked and curtains drawn, he crawled into bed. For the first time in months he slept. Deep slumber that wrapped around him like a blanket, warm and soft and safe. And for the first time in years he dreamed of his father.

**He looked just like Grissom remembered. Alan Grissom was tall and slim with horn-rimmed glasses and a crooked smile and work-roughened hands. His pants had dirt smeared down the front and his short-sleeved shirt matched the blue of his eyes. His hair was the same rich brown as Gil's had once been, but straight, with a heavy lock falling over his forehead. The two of them sat on the back steps of Grissom's childhood home, shoulders and knees touching as they looked out over the close cut grass and beds of flowers that dotted the space.**

**The words his father spoke were odd, disjointed. But they had one underlying theme, the plants he had loved.**

**Alan reached over and picked up a long tendril of jasmine. The vine was wrapped around the railing and the sweet scent of it perfumed the air. "Did you plant some of this, Gil? It's what makes a home." He turned to look at his son, the green leaves and yellow blossoms a backdrop for his piercing gaze.**

**Gil's mouth moved but the voice was from more than forty years earlier. "I tried, Dad. Really."**

**Again he pointed, this time at a flower bed along the fence. The periwinkle was in full bloom and the bed was a riot of purplish blue blossoms. "See that? Doesn't matter how much you have. It's this," again he tugged at the jasmine, "that makes it worthwhile"**

**Gil shook his head. "Why are you telling me about plants? There are so many things I need to ask you."**

**Suddenly, they were standing at the back of the yard in front of another bed. Beautiful yellow and variegated tulips grew in profusion. "Look at those. They remind me of your Sara." Gil simply stared and his father laughed. "I know all about her. And if you'll pay attention, I _am_ answering all your questions."**

**Alan turned and began to walk as Gil followed. He could feel the plants brushing against his pant legs and a light, musky fragrance filled the air. "Lavender?" His voice was deeper now, but still more youthful than normal.**

**His father nodded. "Lavender. Every woman needs lavender."**

**The lavender gave way to a field filled with daffodils and Gil could feel his father tense. "These are the root of evil. Pardon the pun, my boy." His hearty laugh echoed around them.**

**As quickly as the field had appeared it was gone and they were standing in Gil's old high school. The bell was ringing and classes were changing, students rushing by, jostling them as if the two men were invisible. Alan placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "I have to go, Gil. But remember what I said."**

**"But, Dad…" The voice was his own, deep and weathered and full of confusion.**

**"Think, Gilbert." His father smiled, his eyes sparkling with humor and love. "You can do this. You're halfway there." And then he was gone.**

The fourth ring of the telephone snatched Grissom out of the dream. Fumbling, he managed to get it open and to his ear. "Hello?"

The device was silent for so long he almost hung up. But then a slightly nasal female voice said, "Dr. Grissom?"

He cleared his throat and scrubbed at his eyes. 'Yes."

"I…uh…I'm sorry to wake you." There was a slight catch her breath, as if she were crying. "This is Elizabeth Bethune."

It took him a moment to place the name but when he did, he sat up on the edge of the bed. Shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, he said, "Elizabeth. What can I do for you?"

This time her sob was more pronounced. And her voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper. "I think we need to talk."

Excitement shot through his body. This was it. The one thing he'd been waiting for. "Tell me when and where. I'll be there."


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: I want to take a second to tell my beta's thank you. These women go above and beyond - because I'm a neurotic a. They deserve more than I can ever give them. :D

**December 31, 2007**

Rain and heavy clouds blanketed most of Northern and Central California, and Sara found herself driving slower than she normally would have. The roads were slick with accumulated oils and traffic was a nightmare. Her sense of peace was quickly eroded by frustration; her shoulders and neck tense, her hands aching from gripping the steering wheel too hard due to the conditions. The radio was on, but the need to change stations as she passed in and out of range was too distracting, so she turned it off with a quick push of the button. For a while she drove in silence, no radio, nothing but the steady thump of her wipers and the hiss of the water spraying off her tires.

As she neared Bakersfield the rain slowed to a stop. She was forced to dig out her sunglasses when the cloud cover finally broke. And as the traffic and weather improved, so did her mood. Despite the fact that the three hundred miles had taken her almost an hour longer than it should have, Sara was convinced she could make up some time through the desert and still get to Vegas by ten. Once again she found the power button for the radio and, after finding a station she thought she'd like, began humming along with the music.

When she began seeing signs for Bakersfield, Sara started looking for a place to stop. She had been riding for almost six hours and both her bladder and stomach were making their disapproval known. Seeing a sign for a Happy Harry's Gas & Sip, Sara laughed and shook her head. Apparently, the entire city of Las Vegas and most of Nevada weren't enough to make Harry happy anymore.

She took the next exit, spotting the gas station off to her right. Parking the car, she opened the door and eased her stiff body out of the seat. Every muscle protested as she stretched. Sara groaned quietly and tilted her head from side to side, trying to relieve the tension that was still keeping her shoulders and neck tight.

Grabbing her purse, Sara slung it over her shoulder and locked the car. The sun had set and the parking lot lights gave the place an eerie glow. The air was cool and she shivered a little as she opened the door and stepped inside. The store was bright and welcoming with the usual displays of chips and candy and snack cakes. The smell of hotdogs being cooked by a heat lamp permeated the air. With a mumbled hello to the clerk, Sara looked around for the restrooms. Minutes later, with a protein bar, a bag of Doritos, a candy bar and a bottle of water she was back in the car.

Sara skirted around the city of Bakersfield and headed toward Barstow, picking up speed as the traffic became lighter. The miles sped by, her head lights revealing that the verdant greens had given way to browns and tans as she neared the I-15. The time was just after eight o'clock when she took the exit that would be the last leg of her journey. Suddenly, she realized she was less than two hundred miles from home and she had no idea how Grissom was going to react when he saw her.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The bleating of the alarm woke him at six o'clock. With a groan, Grissom slapped at the offending object until the noise stopped. He flopped back against the pillow and sighed. The thought of not having to work tonight, or for the next four days, made him tired in a way the job never had and he wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep. But that just wasn't possible.

Grissom had agreed to meet Elizabeth Bethune at a diner near the hospital at nine and he wanted to make sure he was there on time. It was New Year's Eve and the revelers would be out in droves, snarling traffic and making his drive a difficult one. The very idea of driving through downtown and along the Strip made his head throb. Instead, he planned to take the perimeter. While it might be longer, it would definitely be faster tonight.

Sighing, he climbed out of bed, taking a moment to adjust the pajama pants that had become tangled around his legs while he was sleeping. He had gotten used to sleeping in just his boxers and a t-shirt when Sara was sharing his bed. Being snuggled against her kept him warm, even on the coldest days. Without her, the bed was cold and lonely. But the pants were a poor substitute for her softness, her heat. With a muttered curse, he stumbled into the bathroom to relieve his bladder and wash his hands and face. Pulling on a long sleeved t-shirt and sliding his feet into his slippers he headed to the kitchen to make coffee.

While the coffee brewed, he opened the door and let Hank into the backyard. Stepping out onto the patio, he watched with a bemused smile as the canine performed his regular routine, trotting along the fence line, marking his territory. It never failed to amaze him that even dogs were such creatures of habit. And he often wondered, while watching Hank, if he and Sara, with their OCD tendencies, had somehow influenced the unsuspecting beast. With a quiet chuckle, he went in to pour himself some coffee.

Returning to the patio, he settled into one of the chairs and took a sip from the steaming mug in his hands. A few minutes later, Hank trotted over and flopped at his feet, his big body, seemingly boneless. Grissom sat, staring out into the darkness, listening to the night sounds and feeling the warmth of Hank against his feet and legs. Despite the peaceful setting, his mind was spinning. His normally well ordered life was not so well ordered now, and he was having a hard time wrapping his head around everything that was happening.

"I'm tired, Hank." Grissom's voice sounded loud in the quiet of the early evening. Hank looked up at him hopefully before scrambling to his feet. With the dog staring at him, Grissom repeated himself, "I'm tired and I'm lost."

Hank only continued to stare at him. "I need to get my head on straight before I meet this nurse, Boy. Have you got any suggestions?" The dog shook his head and snorted to clear his airway and Grissom laughed. "Is that so?" The dog did it again and started to prance back and forth in front of him.

Grissom leaned forward in his chair and scratched Hank's ears. "You're a very smart dog. I don't know why I didn't think of that."

With another laugh, he dodged Hank's exuberant attempts to kiss him. "You know, I haven't done this since Sara left. But don't tell her." The dog sat back on his haunches and looked at Grissom, his eyes promising to keep the secret.

When he and Sara began spending time together outside work, Grissom realized just how much he had let himself go since his surgery. He had picked up almost thirty pounds he could do without. To her credit, Sara never once asked him to lose weight. As a matter of fact, based on her behavior in _and out_ of the bedroom, she had no problem with his body at all. But he was self-conscious about it.

Grissom didn't realize how much he complained about his spongy middle until Sara told him to stop talking and start doing something about it. After a rather heated discussion about his physical limitations, she suggested Tai Chi. Grissom had reluctantly started the exercises, but he quickly became a true believer. The movements gave him a great isometric workout that helped build muscle while the need to control his breathing helped to clear his mind and relieve his stress.

Standing, Grissom moved over to the side of the patio, away from the table and chairs, to an area Sara left clear just for him. For a moment, he simply stood with his hands loose at his side and eyes closed, drawing air in and expelling it slowly. As he moved into the first position, he focused on the shape of his body, the placement of his arms and legs, the contraction of his muscles and the movement of air in and out of his lungs.

Twenty minutes later, his muscles quivering and his body coated in a fine sheen of sweat, Grissom was more relaxed, more centered, than he had been in days. Raising his arms overhead, he stretched, relishing the slight soreness that came with a good workout. When he turned his head, he found Hank curled up in a chair with his head on his front legs.

Grissom used the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face while Hank watched him with something that looked remarkably like amusement. With a grin, Grissom admonished, "Not a word out of you. I know I'm only getting what I deserve."

Raising his head, Hank gave a soft bark. Then he clambered off the chair and trotted over to the door, looking back at Grissom. "Dinner time?" Once again, Hank gave a short bark, this one more excited than the last. Getting his coffee cup off the table, Grissom opened the door and let them into the house.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"Hey. I'm baaaaaaaaaack." Sara shook her head in frustration.

Sara's mind was spinning. She was seventy-five miles closer to Vegas and still no closer to figuring out how to explain her presence. The radio was playing quietly and Sara tried to concentrate on the music, hoping to calm her raging thoughts. She turned up the volume and the throaty voice of Fergie floated out. The song was about a girl who left her lover in order to work out her own problems, and Sara found herself listening to the lyrics, nodding along in agreement.

"Big girls don't cry." Sara's voice was a little scratchy as she sang along with the chorus. It wasn't true, big girls did cry. She was living proof.

The last strains of the song faded into 'She's a Brick House'. With a rueful grin, Sara turned the volume down again. Her thoughts were just too jumbled to keep inside.

"Just call him, Sara." Even this answer didn't seem appropriate. "No. I've called three times today and he hasn't called back. That should tell me something."

Once again her stomach gave a nasty lurch. Maybe he didn't want her…there or anywhere. Maybe he was so upset about what had happened that he was going to withdraw _again_.

"Gil hasn't called. But why am I acting all surprised?" She gave a harsh laugh and shook her head. "You'd think I expected him to be different. Like I didn't learn anything from that month he spent in Massachusetts."

She waved a hand dismissively at her imaginary audience. "It doesn't matter if I told him to go. I told him what he wanted to hear." Pausing, she rubbed her tired eyes. "What did I want? I wanted him to lean on me. I wanted to be the one he turned to when it got bad. I wanted to be enough." Her voice was bitter and just a little bit husky. "Of course, I guess I don't have any right to complain. What I did was worse. Much worse."

Eyes focused on the road, she swallowed back the tightness in her throat. Reaching forward she snagged the bottle of water out of the cup holder and took a long drink.

"Brass called and I thought you might need me." She shook her head. "Yeah. Sounds stupid to me too."

"I missed you." Another sharp laugh that didn't hold much humor. "True, but he's not gonna buy it. After all, if missing him were enough I never would've left."

Her emotions had run the gamut from anxiety to terror to peace to frustration and right back to anxiety. With every mile that passed she became more convinced that going home right now was a mistake. Grissom would be furious. His pride wouldn't allow him to take pity from anyone, especially her.

"That's been our problem all along." She chuckled at the absurdity of those words. "Talk about an understatement."

Obviously the monotony of the drive was getting to her. She was starting to act like Sofia, talking to herself. But her unease was growing by the minute.

"Why can't I just go in there and tell him I was worried? Why do I think I need to dance around him? He is my husband. I don't need to make stuff up."

Suddenly, as if by magic, pinpricks of light began to appear in the distance. At first Sara thought she was seeing more stars, but then she realized it was the lights of Las Vegas. Her heart jumped and her stomach clenched and she almost lost her nerve. Then one word floated through her mind…Home. Before she knew it, tears were streaming down her cheeks. Not the sad, hot tears of desperation that had followed her to California but the sweet, cleansing tears of happiness.

A quick glance at the dashboard clock told her it was nine o'clock. She should be able to get to the house by shortly after ten. And she couldn't wait. It didn't matter if Gil was mad. It didn't matter that she had no idea what to say. All that mattered was that she would soon get to see him, touch him, taste him. To tell him she was sorry. And to do whatever she could to make things better for both of them.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

It was half past eight when Grissom locked the door behind him and climbed into his car. He opened the garage door with the push of a button and backed out. Hopefully the twenty mile drive wouldn't take longer than thirty minutes. The unplanned time spent exercising, while helping him relax, had thrown off his schedule. Hopefully, Elizabeth would wait for him.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I want to give a huge shout of thanks to Mingsmommy and Losingntrnslatn. These women drag me kicking and screaming through these. They smack me when I need it and tell me I'm doing good when it's deserved. They are awesome.**

**December 31, 2007**

Grissom pushed open the door of the small diner and stepped inside. The air was warm and humid and smelled of bacon grease and pancakes and coffee; aromas familiar to every working class man and woman in America. He paused, his eyes scanning the room, skipping over the empty tables, until he spotted Elizabeth Bethune. She was seated at a table on the far side of the restaurant, her eyes glued to a book. He could see the strain on her face from where he stood.

He made his way across the room and stopped beside her table. "Elizabeth?"

Her head jerked up and she jumped. Pressing a hand to her chest, she said, "You startled me, Dr. Grissom." When he continued standing, she motioned toward the chair. "Please, sit down."

"Thanks." He pulled the chair out and slid into the seat. "I didn't mean to scare you."

With a shake of her head, she waved away his apology. Carefully marking her place, she set the book aside and picked up a menu. She placed it front of him before taking one for herself. "I didn't want to order without you."

Grissom picked up the menu and glanced over it. The waitress, a bottle blonde with leathery skin and a gold tooth that winked in the fluorescent lighting wandered over. She slouched beside the table, pencil poised over the order pad.

"What can I get ya?" she drawled around the wad of gum in her mouth.

They ordered and the woman sauntered off, gum snapping in time with the swing of her hips.

Grissom learned early in his career to be quiet, to listen. It was amazing what a person would say in order to fill up a silence. But he was beginning to think Elizabeth was going to be able to out wait him. For the second time that night, he concentrated on controlling his breathing. He watched as she played with the straw in her glass before taking a long drink. She studied the Formica table top, refusing to meet his gaze.

He glanced up and murmured a 'thank you' when the waitress slid a steaming mug in front of him. Picking it up, he blew across the surface and took a tentative sip, grimacing at the bitterness. Finally, when he thought he was going to have to pry words out of her, Elizabeth began to speak.

"Have you ever made a fool of yourself over a woman, Dr. Grissom?" Elizabeth kept her eyes on the table while she carefully shredded a napkin with hands that trembled.

"Yes." Grissom nodded, reinforcing the word even though she didn't notice. "And, please call me Gil."

"Alright, Gil." She looked up and flashed him a smile before letting her eyes slide back to the table. "I feel like such an idiot."

Once again, he was silent. She obviously had a story to tell and she was going to tell it at her own pace.

She drew in a breath and, leaning back in her chair, let it out slowly. For the first time she met his gaze. "I believed him when he said he was there making rounds." She ran her hands through her hair, tufts sticking out in unruly spikes. "I believed him when he smiled at me and flirted with me."

Nodding, Grissom kept his eyes on her, his face morphing into a sympathetic mask. "Tell me what changed that."

Her response was cut short by the waitress' return. Placing their plates in front of them she left without a word. Grissom turned once again to Elizabeth. "You were saying?"

"I saw it. He let his guard down and I saw the truth. I saw the whole horrible truth in those eyes." She turned to stare out the window, her cheeks burning a bright red. Her voice lowered to a whisper and she said, "I can't believe I was so stupid."

Grissom could see her reflection and he watched as tears spilled over her lashes trickled slowly down her cheeks. Reaching over, he took her hand and squeezed, his wedding band glinting warmly in the harsh light. In a soft voice, he said, "Tell me what you saw, Elizabeth. Help me to see the truth."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Sara turned into the driveway and hit the button on the remote for the garage. Nothing happened.

"Shit," she whispered. "Stupid dead batteries."

Parking in front of the furthest garage door, she cut the engine and climbed out. She stretched, arms over her head, rising up on her tip toes and then bending forward until her fingertips touched the ground. Standing she looked around, soaking in her surroundings. The neighborhood was quiet. Judging by the number of cars in front of the house three doors down, the Jackson's were throwing a party. With a smile splitting her face, she popped the trunk and retrieved her bag before heading to the front door.

The house was dark and Sara fumbled with fitting her key in the lock. Suddenly, she heard a sharp bark from the other side of the door, followed by the scratch of nails against the wood.

"Hank," Sara tried to sound firm even though she was smiling so hard it hurt. "Get down. Don't scratch the door." Finally, the key turned. "I'm coming. Mama's coming. Get down."

Hank backed up as she opened the door, his nails scrabbling against the slate of the entryway. Sara eased in and pushed the door closed while Hank danced in circles at her feet. When she dropped her bag, he gave one excited bark before jumping up and putting his paws on her shoulders. His big tongue swiped up her left cheek when she turned to dodge his welcoming kiss.

"Hank," Sara admonished in a whisper, "get down." She shoved at the boxer, trying to dislodge him. When he had all four feet on the ground, she knelt and hugged him, burying her face in his neck. The feel of his fur against her face and his familiar doggy smell had her tearing up and she held onto him mumbling nonsense. "I missed you. So much. You're mama's big boy. Yes you are. My big boy."

Sitting back on her heels, she used her nails to scratch the top of his head and his ears and then along his neck to his sides. When the big dog flopped over on his side, she giggled and began to scratch his belly. Even when her arms grew tired, Hank continued to lie on his back with all four legs in the air. His eyes were closed and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. He was the picture of pure bliss.

With a final pat to Hank's chest, Sara clambered to her feet. "Come on, boy. Let's go find daddy."

Gathering her purse and duffle she locked the door and headed toward the bedroom, Hank trotting ahead of her. When Sara entered the room, the dog was already sprawled across the middle of the bed, his head up and what looked suspiciously like a grin on his face.

Since Grissom was obviously not in bed, Sara turned on a light. Dropping her bags on the chair in the corner of the room, she hurried into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she came out and climbed on the bed next to Hank. Kicking her shoes off, Sara wrapped her body around the canine and scratched his ears.

"Where's daddy, Hank? Hmmmmmm?" She yawned. The trip had been long and she was tired. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arm around Hank. "We'll just wait right here. He has to be back soon."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"Your wife…" Elizabeth looked up at Grissom, giving him a soft smile, "is a very lucky woman."

Slowly, Grissom released her hand. "I'm the lucky one, Elizabeth." Blushing under her gaze, he said, "Tell me about Doctor Rosenthal."

Picking up her burger, Elizabeth took a bite and chewed slowly. Swallowing, she took a long drink of soda. "It wasn't until you came by the hospital that I even thought about this. I had no reason to doubt what he told me before."

Dragging a lone french fry through the ketchup on her plate, she popped it into her mouth. Swallowing, she continued. "He's been on the floor at odd hours. Four, four thirty in the morning. He would just appear out of nowhere."

She realized her glass was empty and looked around for the waitress. Finally catching the woman's eye, Elizabeth held up the glass and smiled.

"He never uses the elevator, you know." She sent Grissom another smile. "Not like you. Not like everybody else."

Grissom had been eating quietly, absorbing her tale. "Elizabeth, taking the stairs doesn't make him a murderer."

She shook her head. "It's not just that. I've…I've seen him on the floor when he didn't have any patients there." She pushed the last bite of burger into her mouth.

"In the middle of the night?" Grissom's brow slid up and he watched her carefully.

She nodded and swallowed. "Yeah. He told me once he was covering for Doctor Amir. But Doctor Amir made his own rounds later, after the day shift came on. I saw his notes in the charts."

"Have you seen him in or around any of the rooms where the women died?"

Muttering a thank you to the waitress, Elizabeth took a drink from her new glass. "I can't say." Leaning back, she let out a sharp sigh. "I don't know why I called you. Maybe I'm just mad and now I'm looking for a way to get back at him."

Grissom felt his heart sink. He had hoped that she would be his break, the one thing to break it wide open. His voice was harsh, his frustration overflowing, when he said, "I don't want to place blame where it doesn't belong. But if he's killing these women, he needs to be stopped."

Once again her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry for wasting your time. I just…just…" she trailed off with a sob. Grabbing a handful of napkins from the metal dispenser on the table, she wiped at her eyes. "I just don't have what you want. I can't tell you anything definite."

Tamping down his anger, Grissom tried to smile. "That's okay. You can at least place him at the scene. Maybe if you checked your records it would jog your memory."

Outwardly, Grissom was calm, but inside he was walking a high wire over the Grand Canyon. He couldn't ask her to check the records. Even now, if she chose to do it on her own, the information wouldn't be admissible in court. But if he could just get something to take to Brass, something to point toward foul play, maybe he could convince him that those women were being murdered. Of course, if he pushed too hard and Elizabeth got nervous, he could find himself in more trouble than he was in now.

Elizabeth glanced at her watch. "Oh, I had no idea it was so late. I've got to get to work." She gave him a watery smile. "I'm so sorry I wasted your time. I'm sure you'd rather have been at home with your wife. Or out somewhere…"

Summoning a smile, Grissom said, "Don't worry about it. My wife is very understanding."

Dropping a few dollars on the table to cover the tip, Grissom stood and waited for her to gather her things before following her to the register. Despite her protests, he paid for their dinner and then followed her to her car.

"Gil, thank you for dinner. And again, I'm so sorry." Elizabeth held out her hand.

Grissom took her hand, giving it a firm shake. "Dinner was my pleasure. Please, if you think of anything, give me a call."

"I will." She climbed into her car and closed the door.

Neither of them noticed the midnight blue Lexus that slowed down as it passed the diner. Neither of them felt the icy coldness of the driver's malevolent stare.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

From two houses down, Grissom saw the little silver car parked in the driveway and a spike of pure joy shot through him. Could it be? Was that really her car?

"Sara," her name was a whisper.

Just as quickly as it came, his happiness faded. It couldn't be a coincidence. Grissom didn't believe in those. What he did believe in was evidence, facts. And the evidence in this case told him somebody called her. It didn't matter if Brass or Catherine had done the deed. The fact remained that she didn't just pick today to come home.

Pulling into the garage, he lowered the door and cut the engine. For a minute he just sat in the car, bracing himself for the confrontation he knew was coming. He could feel a headache starting right behind his eyes. He knew that without his medication, the band of pain would soon spread up and out until it felt as if his head were caught in a vise. Mumbling a curse underneath his breath, he got out of the car and went inside.

In the kitchen he took a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and grabbed his migraine medication from the cabinet. He shook a pill into his palm. Washing it down with a long drink of water, he ran a hand over his eyes and willed the headache away.

The house was silent. Then he heard the faint click of Hank's nails on the floor. Turning he watched as the dog, _his dog_, paused in the archway between the kitchen and living room. Hank, his head swiveling back and forth, whined and gave a short bark. Turning he took a few steps back toward the bedroom before stopping and looking back at Grissom.

"Is mama in the bedroom, boy?" Grissom walked over and scratched Hank's ears, chuffing out a laugh when the boxer nuzzled against his hand. "Didn't want to leave her, did you?" Hank gave a short bark and led the way to the bedroom. Grissom followed, his mind wary but his heart pounding out a rhythm of hope.

He entered the bedroom a couple of steps behind Hank. For a moment he simply stood and stared at her. Sara was curled up in the middle of the big space, her arms and legs tucked close to her body as if she was cold. Her hair was spread out around her; a nimbus of brown curls. Her chest rose and fell slowly with each breath.

Grissom was rooted to the spot. It had been months since he watched her sleep. Long months of loneliness. Long months during which he had forgotten what it was like to see her this way; so relaxed, so beautiful. It didn't matter that he understood her reasons for leaving, the fact was her departure still hurt. Mentally he gave himself a shake. Crossing to the bed, he covered her with the blanket that was draped over the end of the mattress. His hand hovered over her hair, barely touching the silken strands. She stirred a little, a smile flitting over her lips, and he stepped back. He would deal with Sara in the morning. Now was not a good time.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Sara came awake slowly, her mind struggling to remember where she was. Glancing around, she realized she was in her bed…their bed. She was home. For a moment, she snuggled beneath the blanket covering her. She remembered coming in and being attacked by Hank. A smile tugged at her lips as the memory ran through her mind. Just as quickly, the smile faded. Hank was the only one here to greet her.

Lifting her head, Sara glanced around the room. The grey light of early dawn was bleeding through the blinds and she was alone. Obviously, Grissom had come in at some point because she was covered with a blanket. Finding the clock, she was surprised to realize it was five in the morning. She had been asleep for at least six hours. Sitting up, she stretched before climbing off the bed and padding into the other room.

Grissom was stretched out on the sofa; one arm thrown over his head, the other resting on his stomach. For a moment Sara couldn't breathe. Her heart was in her throat and she simply stared at him. Then she noticed how thin his face was, how dark the skin around his eyes was, and she felt the hot rush of guilt flood over her.

Hank, who had been sleeping beside the sofa, rose, stretched and wandered over to press against her legs before taking off for the back door. Dragging her attention from her husband's sleeping form, she followed the dog. Letting him out, Sara went about making coffee, focusing her attention to the task at hand, because allowing herself to think about the man in the other room and how he had suffered because of her was not something she could do at that moment.

Sara was sitting at the breakfast bar sipping coffee and watching Hank eat his breakfast when Grissom shuffled into the kitchen. He simply stood there for a moment, watching her.

She stood and took a step toward him but he stiffened and Sara stopped short. She waited, hoping he would say something. But soon the silence became too much and with a nervous smile she asked, "Why didn't you wake me?"

Grissom shrugged, brushing aside her question. "You were asleep." Without another word he moved to the coffee maker and reached for a mug. With his back to her, he poured the coffee, his back a rigid line.

When he finally spoke, she could hear the strain in each word, "Why are you here?"

Sucking in a breath at the anger in his voice, Sara fought to choke back her own temper. She knew this was coming. She just didn't expect it to happen before they even said hello. "Brass…"

"He never should've called you." Grissom ran a hand through his hair turning the already messy curls into unruly spikes.

"I…uh… Well, if you don't…don't want me here, I can leave." Sara's voice trembled, pain obvious in every syllable. "I'll just stay in a hotel, if that's what you want."

With a hard shake of his head, Grissom said, "No, Sara, that's n-... Stay." Bracing himself on the counter, he stared out into the back yard.

Tension hung in the room like a heavy blanket until finally he spoke again. Sliding his coffee mug across the counter with a frustrated push, not noticing as the liquid sloshed over the rim, he clenched his jaw and said, "I knew this would happen. I knew if you found out about work you would come running back."

"Of course I came back. What did you expect?" Her words were said in a confused rush as she moved around the counter and touched him, her palm warm and solid between his shoulder blades.

Jerking away from her touch, Grissom moved around her. "I can't talk about this right now, Sara." Snatching his keys up, he marched to door. He paused there, not facing her when he admitted, "I can't….can't breathe." And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

Sara stood in the middle of the kitchen, listening as he started his car and backed out of the garage. Her mind was spinning, trying to understand what had just happened. Then his last words registered and she knew where he was going. Hurrying into the bedroom, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and slipped on her shoes. She grabbed a jacket for each of them and was soon backing out of the driveway.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Thanks so much to Mingsmommy and LosingnTrnslatn for all their hard work.

**January 1, 2008**

_Pacing. My shoes slapping out a rhythm that plays like a score beneath my chaotic thoughts. Walking and turning and walking. I cannot sit still. I have been careless and I can feel everything falling apart around me. _

_Elizabeth with Gil Grissom. How could I let that happen? I know they were discussing me. What else could those two have been doing together? It is not as though the infamous Dr. Grissom, or any man for that matter, could ever be romantically interested in the likes of her._

_I want to find her, to learn what she knows, what she has told him. But I mustn't. No, I cannot do that. It would only make things worse. Besides, I have made no mistakes. Have I?_

_Suddenly, my legs grow weak and I cannot continue to stand. Stumbling over to the sofa, I sit down quickly. The air rushes from my lungs and they freeze. I cannot breathe. I feel the panic set in. It is a tingle along the nerves in my arms and legs. It is a numbness around my mouth. It is a heat in my stomach that flows upward until it rests in my chest like an enormous and immoveable rock. Sweat trickles along my temples and over my cheeks. _

_I call out for Renee, but then I remember she is not there. I need my medication. Pushing to my feet, I am forced to hold onto the arm of the sofa as the dizziness overtakes me. Remaining there, I wait on my head to clear before taking a step. With the dizziness comes the nausea and I swallow desperately against the desire to empty my stomach onto the living room floor. Moving forward, I manage somehow to shuffle into the kitchen and fumble through the cabinet until I find the right bottle. Shaking out one pill, I put it in my mouth and swallow it dry. _

_Air. Air is what I need right now. Cool air blowing on me so that I may breathe. There is a ceiling fan in the bedroom and with a clumsy determination, I make my way there. Stripping off all my clothes, I turn the fan on high and lay with my head directly beneath it. The blanket is pulled over my body, and I close my eyes and concentrate on drawing the air into my lungs. I can feel the sweat beginning to dry on my skin. Slowly, I feel the drug taking effect. My heart rate slows. My breathing eases and I begin to drift._

_I am somewhere between asleep and awake. It is in this state of drifting between the realms that I am blessed, when God delivers to me the answer I have sought. With His plan playing out in my mind, I allow myself to rest._

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Sara was surprised when she didn't see Grissom's car in the lot at the entrance to the park. Then she saw the opening in the fence and caught a glimpse of a dust cloud just beyond it. Quickly, she crossed the gravel area and nosed her car down the narrow track leading out into the desert. Sticking to the well worn path, she headed into the canyon, the butterflies in her stomach growing larger by the moment.

The mountains loomed in the distance and Sara's eyes kept drifting toward them. The sandstone peaks were the deep brown of the surrounding landscape, except for a swath of deep red running through them; that rust color giving the canyon its name.

Dragging her eyes back from the view, Sara picked her way over the rough ground. The car crested a small rise and she saw Grissom's car parked beside a gully. He was sitting on a shelf of rock above the indention, his back to her. She pulled up behind him and cut the engine before grabbing their jackets and stepping out into the cool, clear air of the morning. Taking a deep breath, she relished the cold bite of the air as it filled her nostrils and expanded her lungs.

Sara hadn't been back to Red Rock Canyon since she was airlifted out. There was no reason to return. The things she experienced in that place changed her in ways she couldn't explain. And returning to the scene of the crime wouldn't turn back the clock, wouldn't make her the Sara from before. However, Grissom seemed to think of it as some kind of shrine. She knew he came out here, even before she left for San Francisco. They never talked about it. But then, they never talked about a lot of things.

Standing there, her eyes scanning the mountains and the miles of scrub and sand, she noticed the quiet immediately. Complete and total silence. So very different from the cacophony of the city. Different even from the cottage. The peace she found there was centered on the sound of the waves on the shore, the call of the birds, the whisper of the wind through the pines. That was a peace that lulled. This was a peace that screamed.

Sliding her arms into her jacket, she zipped it up against the chill. Her footsteps were loud in the stillness, crunching over loose rocks and packed dirt. She watched Grissom's back. He made no move to acknowledge her presence and for a split second she was afraid she'd made a mistake by following him. But she wasn't one to run from a challenge, so she kept going, climbing up to sit beside him, close but not touching.

Silently she passed him his jacket and, without a word, he slipped it on. Behind the mountains, the sun rose; fingers of light creeping across the canyon floor, chasing back the shadows. Off in the distance, a hawk soared lazily across the cloudless sky, riding a draft of warm air. Sara watched the display with a sense of awe. She had forgotten the power of the sunrise, having become consumed by the soft beauty of the sunsets over the Pacific.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Grissom kept his eyes forward, studiously ignoring the woman sitting next to him. He couldn't remember ever telling her about his trips out here, but it didn't surprise him that she knew. He couldn't remember a time when Sara didn't know him better than he knew himself. Even now, after everything they had been through, his propensity to doubt her ability in that arena was somewhat shocking.

Riding out here, Grissom had finally admitted to himself that he was running from her. But he hadn't been able to force himself to turn around. No matter how much he missed her, he wasn't ready for her. He wasn't ready to talk to her about his suspension. He wasn't ready to explain how her leaving had changed him; not to anyone, and especially not to her. He wasn't ready to let go of his own pain.

Surreptitiously, he let his eyes drift to her profile. She was so beautiful. He loved her, more than he had ever hoped to love another person. His feelings for her were all consuming. They filled him until he was sure he couldn't contain anything else. Then he would discover another secret, another facet, and he could feel his heart expand just a little more.

Despite his love for her, or perhaps because of it, his emotions about her departure were mixed. He had been hurt and more than a little angry. His worst fear, the thing that kept them apart for all those years, had come to pass. Sara had held his entire life in her hands and she simply walked away. The depth of that betrayal ran deep. But even if he didn't like it, he understood why she left. He had watched her for slowly unraveling for months. He knew she was in trouble, knew she was unhappy. And above all else, he wished for her happiness. The desire to see her happy was what kept him from falling apart.

"It's beautiful here." Sara's words came out on a rush of air.

"It's hell." Grissom countered in a voice hoarse with emotion.

Grissom could feel Sara's eyes on him, but he kept his gaze trained on the bottom of the gully. The feelings rolling through him caused his heart to pound. He could feel the flutter of the pulse in his throat. Leaning forward he rested his elbows on his knees, letting his hands trail over the ground in front of him.

"Why do you come here if you hate it so much?"

He was silent for a long time, the muscles in his jaw working and his breathing becoming more ragged. Finally, he turned haunted eyes to her. "It's the last place I felt close to you."

Sara drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "How can you say that?"

Grissom turned away from her, his eyes going back to the place where Natalie had left her to die. He struggled to find the right words. His hand trembled as he raked it through his hair. He could feel Sara's eyes on him and he fought the urge to stand up and walk away. They had to talk about this. They had to talk about a lot of things. With a sigh, he opened his mouth only to snap it closed again.

With one last shuddering breath, he began, "When Nick and I got here, the car was here," he gestured at the dip in the ground. "I was terrified. I took one look and knew you couldn't possibly have survived. Then we didn't find you."

His eyes slid closed and the images from that day played out in his mind. He could feel the scorching heat. He could taste the dust, feel the grit under his nails and see the sunlight glinting off the undercarriage of the Mustang. He had to swallow against the lump in his throat when he remembered dropping to his knees and digging through the rough sand that was mounded around the car, believing in his heart that Sara was dead.

Turning to face her for the first time, he offered her what he hoped was a smile. "I was so relieved. I knew then, despite all the odds, _I knew _you'd make it."

As quickly as it came, the smile faded. Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose, his forehead furrowing as if he were fighting off a headache. "But you weren't the same, Sara. I lost you here and I didn't even know it. I lost you and I lost myself."

She had been so withdrawn. She still made love to him and teased him and filled his life with her presence. But he would catch her sometimes staring into space, miles away from him and their life, and he would know that things weren't what they should be.

Once again he turned to face her. "You weren't the Sara I knew. You weren't _my_ Sara. You were quieter, more withdrawn. And I didn't know what to do so," he shrugged helplessly, "I did nothing."

"Gil," Sara reached out and placed a hand on his arm, "there was nothing you could do."

"We'll never know, will we?" He captured her hand, squeezing her fingers, silently apologizing for letting her down once again.

"You may not know, but _I_ do." It was Sara's turn to stare into the gully. She pulled her hand away from his and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the cold wind.

"There are some experiences that change you. Not physically but mentally, emotionally." Turning she faced him, a sad smile tipping the corners of her mouth. "And this…this was _huge_, bigger than I could have imagined."

"Don't make light of it, Sara." Grissom's voice was hard, anger rolling through in him long waves.

"I would _never_ make light of it, Gil." Sara snapped. She clambered to her feet and walked to the very edge of the overhang. Kicking at a loose rock, she watched as it bounced down the steep incline and rolled to a stop under a bush. "I lost me, too," she whispered, her voice blowing past him with the wind.

He stood and moved to stand behind her. Raising his hands, he let them hover over her shoulders before settling them gently at her waist. The breeze plucked at her hair and it brushed against his face. Tugging, he pulled her back against his chest. At the feel of her against his chest, his anger began to dissolve. He knew then he would do whatever was necessary to keep her in his life. He would move heaven and hell to be with this woman, because without her he was incomplete.

"So, what do we do now?" Grissom wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed against her. "If we're both lost, how do we get back?"

"We don't. We just keep moving forward." Settling her arms over his, Sara leaned back against his chest. "That's all we can do."

"So you think Churchill was right?" Grissom's lips brushed along her ear. "If you're going through hell, keep going?"

"Yeah," Sara nodded. "Our only other choice is to give up."

"That would never be my choice, Sara." Grissom tightened his arms around her. "I love you and I will never give up."

Turning her head, she looked up at him before brushing a kiss along his jaw. "Good," she whispered and turned her eyes back to the mountains.

He had missed this, the feeling of simply holding her. And from the sound of her sigh, she had missed it too. They stood like that for a long while, each of them caught up in their own thoughts; the unyielding rock beneath them, the unending sky above them, the early morning sun bathing them in light and warmth.

"I'm sorry I stormed out." He pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

Sara turned, wrapping her arms around his neck. "And I'm sorry I left the way I did." Her words were murmured against his jaw, her lips and breath tickling him.

Grissom's arms tightened around her and Sara leaned into his warmth. He breathed in the scent of Sara. There were days he would gladly have given every dime he had, every physical possession just to be with her like this, to smell her, feel her, see her and know she was real and not some figment of his imagination. Now she was here and he didn't intend to waste another moment of their time together. Easing back, he searched her eyes. He saw it then, her love for him shining in the rich brown depths. Bending his head, he gave in to the need to taste her.

Their lips met, tentatively at first, finding their fit again. Slowly, the passion built until Grissom slipped his tongue along her lips and she opened her mouth to him. With a groan, he slid his hands down and cupped her buttocks, tugging her closer against the ridge of his arousal. Sara's fingers were threaded through his hair and she whimpered low in her throat as Grissom's tongue slipped into her mouth

Tearing her mouth from his, Sara fought to catch her breath. Grinning up at him, she asked, "Can we go home now?"


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 25**

**January 1, 2008**

Even knowing she wouldn't be wearing them long, Sara slipped into her pajamas before drawing the curtains and settling on the bed. It wasn't that she was shy exactly, but it had been a while since she had been naked in front of Grissom and the thought of laying there without clothes on made her more than a little nervous.

Grissom emerged from the bathroom on a cloud of soap scented steam. A grin split his face when he saw her lounging on the bed, propped up by her pillows.

"I…uh…wasn't sure about the dress code." His eyes sparkled as they trailed over her bare arms and shoulders before sliding down the length of her legs exposed by the boy shorts she was wearing. Her skin was luminescent in the soft light of the lamp, her hair damp and curling wildly. And when she smiled he felt his heart skip a beat.

With a shrug, Sara let her eyes slide over him, taking in his baggy t-shirt and blue and white striped boxers. "It's a come as you are party. And you look pretty good to me."

"And you…are a vision."

Sara's eyes were soft and her smile warm as she beckoned him to her. Silently, Grissom crossed the room and climbed on the bed. Stretching out on his side, he watched as she slid down to lie facing him. They stayed like that for a long time, neither wanting to be the one to make the first move, neither of them knowing how. So many things were the same, but so many more were different.

"Where's Hank?" Sara inched closer

Grissom, too, moved closer. "Under the coffee table, pouting, I imagine."

"We can always let him in later." Sara reached out and placed a hand on his cheek, reminding herself just how soft his beard was.

Absently, Grissom shook his head as he trailed a finger along her collar bone. "Not today. Today belongs to me…to the two of us."

Her thumb slid over his lips just before her mouth found his. With a sigh, Sara settled against him. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight, his thigh moving to nestle between hers. One slim hand covered his heart, the fingers twisting in the material of his shirt. Her other arm was around his waist, holding him close. The kiss was filled with the heat they both remembered, the heat which was always just beneath the surface of their relationship. Underneath that, its roots holding them both firmly in place, was the love they had grown into. And the fire of attraction burned so much hotter for the emotions that fueled it.

After a while, Grissom's lips left hers to slide along the delicate skin of her jaw and lower to the smooth column of her neck. Still, he made no move to undress her; or she him. Each seemed content to let the need build, to savor each moment, each touch. Long minutes passed when the only sound was the soft squelch of their mouths melding, of lips finding a new patch of skin to taste; long minutes of knowing how right it felt to be where they were and remembering how desperate the days had been while they were apart.

"I need to touch you." Sara's words were whispered against his temple, followed by the soft press of her lips.

She felt his smile against the curve where her neck met her shoulder. "You are touching me."

This time her lips grazed his eyebrow. "Your skin, Gil. I need to feel your skin." Her hands found the hem of his shirt and slipped underneath it, stroking over his stomach and higher until her palms rested flat against his chest. With a quiet groan, she murmured, "You feel so good."

With some clumsy maneuvering, Grissom managed to help Sara work his shirt over his head. He flung the garment off the bed and was in the process of wrapping his arm around her when Sara pressed her lips to the spot just over his heart. Her mouth was warm and soft and her tongue left a trail of fire on his skin.

With a gentle press of her hand on his shoulder, Sara pushed him onto his back and ranged over him. Her hair, shorter than when she'd left, curtained her face and brushed over his bare skin as she nipped and nibbled her way from the hollow of his throat to his waistband.

"Need you," she mumbled against the spot just below his navel. "Love you," vibrated over his left nipple. "Missed you," hissed along the inside of his elbow. "Want you," whispered against the freckles dusted across his collar bone.

Grissom's hands were tangled in her hair, his fingers tightening against her scalp with each press of her mouth, while his soft moans rumbled up from his chest to dance along her skin like a silken caress. Tugging gently, he brought her lips to his, kissing her until they were both breathless. Never releasing her mouth, he rolled until she was under him, his hips settling in the junction of her thighs. And then it was his turn to taste her.

With hands that shook, he removed her shirt, baring her to his hungry gaze. Then slowly, as if he were giving her time to protest, he bent his head and placed a soft kiss on a nipple, smiling at her gasp. Again, he lowered his head, licking the pink tip before finally drawing it between his lips.

"Gil." His name was a sigh filled with longing. Sara's back arched, pressing against his seeking mouth. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her fingers finding purchase in the firm muscles.

Time lost all meaning. Its only measurement found in the slide of skin on skin. Quiet moans and sweet sighs filtered through the still air, stoking the fire burning between them. Clothing disappeared and the room was filled with the scent of sex; earthy and hot and sweet. Their bodies moved together in a sensual dance, bending and twisting with the rhythm of long time lovers.

Curled on their sides, each giving and receiving pleasure, the two of them wrapped around each other like the classic yin yang. Different but equal, complementing and transforming, becoming stronger through the sharing of themselves.

Sara, rising above him, her hips rocking back and forth as she rode him.

The broad plane of Grissom's back, muscles bunching, hips rising and falling between her legs. Sara's long limbs wrapped around him, pulling him close. His lips on her neck, her breasts. Her muscles stretching to accommodate the velvet press of him. The slow slide of her foot over his calf. Her lips along his jaw, tasting the saltiness of his sweat. His tongue lapping at the hollow of her throat. His breath brushing over her ear.

Murmured words ghosted through the room. Words of love and devotion. Moans and pleas and soft curses. Prayers of thanks and promises neither was sure they could keep.

Sara's climax was teased from her by the gentle press of his fingers against her most sensitive spot. Her muscles clutched at him, rippling along the length of his hardness, her hips rising to meet his, taking him deeper and deeper until his body seemed to meld with hers. Grissom's climax was groaned out against the crook of her neck, his body throbbing as he spilled inside her.

They slept then, entwined. The need sated for a moment, both of them gave in to their physical and emotional exhaustion. Sara awoke a few hours later to the feel of Grissom hard and ready against her buttocks. With a sleepy smile and a contented sigh, she guided his hand from her stomach to the juncture of her thighs before letting her own hand glide up to tease at her nipples. Slowly, gently, he rubbed circles over the little bundle of nerves until she was ready for him. Then he entered her, pushing forward until his coarse hair tickled the firm flesh of her behind.

They made love with his lips skating along the nape of her neck and over the curve of her shoulder. His fingers tangled in the curls between her legs, brushing lightly over her clit. He came first, his cock swelling and pulsing inside her, his body stiff and trembling with the force of his pleasure. But his fingers didn't stop their ministrations. He teased her with the flick of a fingernail, the press of his thumb, the sweep of a finger. When she came, his name trembled on her lips as she convulsed around his softening cock, her entire body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

"Sara," he murmured against her cheek before laying a soft kiss there. "If I didn't say it before, I'm glad you're here."

He felt her smile against his lips. "I wouldn't have guessed." Her teasing tone brought an answering smile to his lips.

"I am nothing if not discreet."

"Baby, discreet is your middle name." She felt more than heard his chuff of laughter, groaning as the quick movement caused him to slip from her body. Rolling in his arms, Sara pressed a kiss to his chin. "Are you hungry?"

Nodding, he let his thumb ghost over her lips. His eyes grew dark and he felt desire coil once again in his belly as her tongue darted out. He knew she tasted her own essence on his skin and the thought had his cock twitching. "Sara, I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Huh?" Her voice was low and throaty and full of confusion. Then she realized what she had done and a blush heated her cheeks. "Oh…um…sorry."

"Don't be. It's very sexy." His eyes were on her mouth as she licked her lips. "_You_ are very sexy," he rasped out.

Sara's mouth found his and she kissed him languidly, thoroughly. Pulling back, she licked her kiss swollen lips once again. "How about Thai?"

Grissom drew in a calming breath and mentally cursed his need for recovery time. "Sounds good."

"I'll shower and then call it in." Sara slipped from his embrace and out of the bed. She was halfway to the bathroom when his voice stopped her.

"Sara?" She turned and raised an eyebrow in question. "We'll continue this later?"

With a saucy grin she ran a hand gracefully over her side and along the curve of her hip. "Count on it."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

_It is late. The waning moon is nothing more than a sliver in the dark sky. The stars, usually barely discernible amidst the neon and streetlights, wink overhead like thousands of tiny beacons guiding my way. The street is quiet, most of the houses dark, as I direct the car further into the neighborhood. I am taking a big risk just by being here, very possibly the biggest so far._

_The house is nondescript; a stucco box with a small patch of dead grass for a front yard. The color is indeterminate in the darkness, everything becoming nothing more than varying shades of gray. I slow down and double check the address to make sure I have the right place before continuing down the street. _

_As I cruise along the next block, I am consumed with the knowledge of what I am about to do. And for the first time I feel a hint of fear. It skitters along my spine, leaving me on edge. All my senses are alive and vying for my attention. Every sound is amplified a thousand times; the hiss of the tires on the asphalt, the rasp of the air filling my lungs, the cadence of the engine as I accelerate are all screaming in my ears. The glow of the dashboard lights seems preternaturally bright, hurting my eyes. I can smell my own fear, sweaty and alive._

_I pass the house once more, checking the ones around it for signs of life. Still the street is dark, everyone locked inside against the cold. Tomorrow is the day they return to work, to school, to the reality of their day to day lives. None of them are worried about what is happening outside the safety of their own homes._

_On the third pass, I douse my headlights at the stop sign and roll slowly down the empty street. Quietly, I turn into the driveway. Now I can see a light on in the back of the house. Probably the kitchen. Where else would Elizabeth be? _

_I ease the car to a stop, only applying the brakes at the last possible moment. For a moment I simply sit in the car. With the engine off, I can hear the thudding of my heart. Fear has turned my guts to liquid. The fact that I always find that phrase trite when reading it in books does not escape me. Eyes darting around, looking for danger in every shadow, I pray. I pray for strength and stealth. I pray for wisdom and patience. I pray for the soul of Elizabeth Bethune. When I have calmed myself, I get out and ease the door closed. _

_From there, it is only a few steps to her door. And then she is opening it, a confused frown on her face._

"_Elizabeth." I plaster on a smile that has left more than one woman swooning. "I'm so sorry to disturb you this evening."_

"_Doctor Rosenthal? What are you doing here?" Shock and confusion war in her eyes as she peers out at me._

_I place my hand on the door jamb, invading her space a little, forcing her back into the house. "I've been worried about you. I fear I have upset you and I wanted to talk to you about it."_

_Her confusion is replaced by another emotion. I dare say it resembles guilt. Poor, poor Elizabeth. If she only knew that I know all about her little indiscretion. But she will know soon enough._

_Shaking her head as if to clear it, she steps back and holds the door open. "Please, come in." _

_I step over the threshold and she closes the door behind me. It is just that easy. She is so trusting, so deluded. I can see the excitement dancing in her mud colored eyes. Anger rips through me, white hot and ice cold. I want to slap her, to rip her apart with my bare hands. She has put everything in jeopardy...__**Everything**__…with her stupid simpering and her need for attention. It takes all my self-control to tamp it down, to keep the smile on my face._

_The house smells like fresh coffee and overcooked eggs, smells I have come to associate with her. My resolve wavers for just a fraction of a second. But it is a mere blip on my radar. I am here for a reason. Elizabeth is a threat to my mission and I must deal with her as I would any other threat. _

_It is so simple. A cup of coffee in the living room. A request for milk. A few drops in her cup while she is out of the room. And she is putty in my hands. I manage to get her in my car and we leave just as quietly as I arrived. I try not to cringe when she places her hand on my arm and smiles at me. Her thick fingers stroke over the fabric of my jacket and I shudder inside. _

_The lights along the strip illuminate her face as her head lolls against the headrest. With her eyes closed and the frown lines relaxed away I can almost see the woman she could have been with a little bit of self-control. I guide the car through several turns, leaving the sea of neon in our wake before turning into a parking lot pock marked with potholes. I pull just past the office window, hoping the car will get lost in the shadows. I reach for the door handle and feel a hand on my thigh._

"_If you wanted sex we could've stayed at my house." Elizabeth's words are slurred._

_Carefully, I clasp her wrist and move her hand away from my leg. "Just be patient. I have so many surprises in store for you."_

_She nods slowly as if the movement is something she remembers seeing, but has never actually performed. "I like surprises."_

"_Wait here." I am out of the car and heading for the office before her drug addled mind can even begin to comprehend my intentions._

_The desk clerk is dirty and greasy and leering at me in the harsh fluorescent lighting. The cigar clamped in the corner of his mouth has burned down to a nub that is dark and wet with spit. He is covered with hair, black and curling, on every inch of skin exposed by his undershirt. The room is cool but he is sweating, rivulets running along his cheeks and jowls_

"_I need a room please." My voice sounds calm despite the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. _

"_See you found yourself a tubby." His head jerks in the direction of my car and his grin reveals a set of badly neglected teeth. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and, with the same hand, pushes a form across the counter to me. "Don't suppose this'll be on a credit card."_

_Shaking my head and ignoring his knowing chuckle, I quickly fill out the form. Shoving it back toward him I wait patiently while he scans the information._

_Once again he looks at me, his eyes flat and hard in his puffy face. "Alrighty, __**Mr. Gil Grissom**__, that'll be fifty-seven dollars." I pass the cash over to him and take the key he holds out. With a wink he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. I put you in the back on the ground floor. Room one thirty-five. Wouldn't want anybody to see that sweet ride of yours sitting out here."_

_I mumble my thanks and hurry out to the car. Elizabeth is asleep in the passenger's seat, snoring softly. I drive to the back of the building and retrieve a bag from my trunk. Placing it in the room, I return to the car for her. Once inside the room, I help her lie down on the bed. With the door locked and the curtain drawn, I get to work._

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The coffee table was covered with autopsy reports, copies of death certificates and photos of the dead women. Sara was sifting through them, desperately searching for anything that seemed out of place. They had been at this for hours, talking and theorizing and finding a rhythm that went far deeper than the one they shared in bed.

"You know…" Sara's voice trailed off when she turned to look at Grissom and caught him staring at her. His lips were turned up in a smirk and his eyes danced with mischief. "What?"

Without a word, he wrapped a firm hand behind her neck and pulled her into his kiss. His lips were warm and dry, his touch gentle, and she settled against him with a quiet sigh. Slowly, he pulled away.

"I've missed this," he gestured at the mess on the table with his free hand. "I've missed you in a lot of ways, but I never realized how much I missed this until now."

With haunted eyes and a sad smile playing around her mouth, Sara climbed onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Gil…"

He placed a hand over her lips. "Shhhhhhhh. Not now. Not tonight."

Sara kissed his fingers, then his palm. "Okay," she whispered.

For long minutes they simply studied one another, neither of them sure what the future would bring but content for the night to live in the present. His gaze, dark with longing and filled with love, mirrored hers. It was Grissom who finally broke the silence.

His eyes swept over her face, lingering on her mouth. "Kiss me, Sara."

And she did.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Again, I am indebted to the incomparable LosingnTranslatn and Mingsmommy. They cranked this beta out in record time. **

**January 2, 2009**

_I watch her as she sleeps. Because I am studying her so closely, I can tell by the change in her breathing that Elizabeth is awake. Her arms and legs are flexing, testing the strength of her bonds. Her mouth works around the gag, testing it with her teeth and tongue. I remain calm in my chair beside the bed, waiting…waiting…waiting…NOW!!!_

_I feel the adrenaline rush through my body as her eyes fly open and her gaze focuses on me. I can hear her muffled scream through the thick knot of material stuffed in her mouth. I watch as she attempts to move further away from me, her body floundering like a whale out of water. Tears fill her eyes and overflow, leaving streaks along her ruddy cheeks. Then her eyes zero in on the scalpel in my hand and her tears turn into sobs. I look on in disgust as her bladder releases, soaking her white cotton panties and filling the room with the acrid odor of urine._

_I shift forward in my chair, trying to calm her, but she jerks away, another scream captured by the gag. Her eyes roll in her head, fear reducing her to the animal I have always known her to be._

"_Elizabeth," my voice is low and even. "Don't be afraid. I don't want to hurt you."_

_Finally, when I make no move to harm her, she calms. Her eyes are still wide and I can read the terror there. Each breath a shuddering pant she forces into her lungs. "Wa u wan," she whimpers over and over._

"_What do I want?" Her head nods frantically. "I just want to talk to you. Calmly. Rationally. Honestly." I lean forward, my eyes staring into hers. "Is that possible?" Again, her head bobs. "Good. Just relax, and I will explain the rules to you."_

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The first time Grissom's cell phone rang, Sara pulled her mouth from his, fully expecting him to answer it. With a brief shake of his head and a gentle tug on the hair he had fisted in his hand, he brought her lips back to his.

The second time, he was pinned beneath her on the couch and she was driving him crazy with her teeth and tongue on his nipples.

The third time, Sara's focus was lower and Grissom muttered a curse that would have made a sailor blush. Sitting up, she found the phone and handed it to him with a smirk.

"Grissom," he ground out between clenched teeth.

"Doctor Grissom?" The voice had a nasal twang that Grissom didn't recognize. "This is Roland. Roland Belcher?"

Grissom searched his mind for a face to go with the name and came up empty. "Um…"

The man chuckled. "It's okay if you don't remember me. I work at the Lucky-U-Motel over on D Street. You was here 'bout a year ago when that hooker got killed. You's the only one believed it wasn't me that done it."

Grissom's mind conjured up the image of a forty something, overweight man with an unfortunate amount of body hair, and a penchant for bad cigars. "I remember. What can I do for you Roland?"

Sitting back on her heels, Sara watched as Grissom tried to juggle the phone and work his underwear back over his feet. Suppressing a giggle, she slid off the couch and knelt beside him. Straightening out the fabric, she placed a quick kiss on his left knee before she drew it up over his calves.

Roland's voice droned in his ear while Grissom let his hand shift through Sara's hair. Her eyes were dark with passion, her lips still kiss swollen and his body throbbed with the need to feel her beneath him. He wanted nothing more than to hang up on the man and pick up where the two of them had left off. As if she sensed his intentions, Sara rose gracefully to her feet and headed for the bedroom.

"….so anyways, this man, he registered with your name." The man's voice rose until he was practically shouting.

Grissom's attention was jerked away from Sara's lithe, naked form and back to man on the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry, Roland. It's my night off and I was…asleep." Grissom rubbed a hand over his eyes and tried to focus. "Can you repeat that?"

With a knowing chuckle, Roland said, "Asleep? Riiiiiiiiiiight." He drew in a deep breath. "Like I was sayin'…this man showed up here tonight with a woman in his car. She was passed out. But that's nuthin' I ain't seen before." He chuffed with a heavy breath and Grissom could almost see the cigar smoke circling the man as he spoke.

"The reason I called is that when this guy filled out the form, he used your name. Now, I know there ain't _really_ that many John Smith's that need a room in Vegas, but…

Grissom's voice cracked like a whip. "What did he look like?"

"Well, you know, I don't make a habit of checkin' out guys or nothin'. I don't swing that way, Doc."

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Grissom patiently asked, "Hair color? Height?"

"Oh." Roland was silent for a moment and Grissom could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. "Well, he had dark hair, almost black. And he was tall…over six foot. And skinny. That's about all I remember."

"And the woman? Did you see her?"

"I didn't get much of a look, but she was a big girl, if you know what I mean. I tried to joke with the guy about makin' it with a tubby, but he didn't get it."

Tamping down his irritation, Grissom asked, "Are they still there?"

"Yeah. Room one thirty-five." Roland's voice conveyed his excitement. "Is that woman in trouble, Doc? Cause I can go around there and…"

"No." Grissom snapped out. Drawing a deep breath he tried to calm himself. "No, Roland. Don't go around there."

"Well, I can't just let him do something to that poor woman."

"What you can do is wait for me to get there. If he leaves make sure you get a plate number." Grissom was on his feet, tugging at his boxers with one hand while holding the phone to his ear with the other. "I mean it Roland, do not confront him."

With the man's begrudging agreement, Grissom hung up.

"Sara? Honey?" Grissom turned toward the bedroom only to see Sara coming out, already dressed.

"Get dressed. I'll call Brass." She smiled at his perplexed look and took the cell phone from his hand. "I might have been away for a while, but I still know your 'emergency' voice when I hear it. Now go."

"It's the Lucky-U on D Street between Sixteenth and Seventeenth." With that, he hurried into the bedroom to get dressed.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"_It's very simple really." I can feel the false smile as it spreads over my face. "I will ask the questions and you will answer. Simple questions, requiring only a yes or no response."_

_I can tell she is listening to me, because she has stopped struggling against the tape which binds her._

"_Can you do that, Elizabeth? Can you answer with just a nod, or a shake of your head?"_

_She nods, slowly, and I can see her mind working to sort everything out. Finally, I hear her muffled question._

"_Capl?"_

_Holding it up, I let the blade catch the light. "This?" Her entire body begins to tremble and she nods jerkily. "Well, this is part of the game. You see, Elizabeth, if you lie to me I will know. Think of this…" I smoothly turn the blade over in my hand, "as a bit of negative reinforcement." I watch closely and recognize the exact moment my meaning becomes clear. "Do you understand?"_

_Again she nods. _

"_Wi?" she asks through the gag._

_This time I shake my head, amused at her utter stupidity. "Because God's Will must be done, Elizabeth. And you have endangered His work."_

_I pause now, letting my mind settle, pushing out any doubt, girding myself for the battle ahead. _

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The Lucky-U-Motel was in the middle of a block of strip joints and crack houses. The entrance and exit were nothing more than one huge pothole that led to the parking lot. A low concrete block wall separated the rest of the lot from the sidewalk. The lot, littered with broken vials, used condoms, discarded needles and empty beer cans, was a sad testament to the seedier side of Las Vegas, the side not usually seen by tourists. When Grissom and Sara pulled in, Brass was leaning against the front of his car waiting for them.

"Gil, what's this about?" Brass had his hands shoved in his pockets and a scowl on his face. Turning, a brief smile flickering over his lips, he winked at Sara. "Hey. You're looking good."

"Thanks." She grinned at the gruff detective and tugged her knit cap down over her ears.

Grissom zipped his jacket and tucked his hands in his pockets. "I got a call from the desk clerk here. Somebody checked in tonight using my name. His description sounds like Doctor Malachi Rosenthal. The man I think has been killing those women I talked to you about."

With the jingle of a bell, Roland Belcher pushed through the door and plodded across the broken asphalt. A grin split his face when he saw Grissom.

"Hey, Doc. How you doin'?" The man extended a hand which Grissom shook, cringing inwardly at the feel of Roland's clammy palm against his.

"Roland." Grissom glanced around, noticing the lack of cars parked in front of the rooms that faced the street. "Are they still here?"

Instead of answering, Roland focused his attention on Sara. "Well, aren't you a pretty little thang? You work with the Doc, here?"

With a quick shake of her head, Sara said, "Um…no…not exactly."

The glint in his eyes became even more lascivious as he leered at her. "He tried to tell me he was asleep. But if I had a woman like you I wouldn't a been sleepin'." His eyes slid over her from top to bottom and back while Sara fought not to shiver in disgust.

"Roland, are they still here?" There was no mistaking the ice in Grissom voice.

Roland quickly turned to face him, hands held up in surrender. "Can't blame a guy…."

"Hey, pal. The man asked you a question." Brass stepped between the clerk and Sara, effectively blocking his view. "Are they still here?"

Backing up a couple of steps, Roland wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked at Grissom. "Yeah. They're still here. Room one thirty-five. I been watchin' the entrance ever since I called you."

Again, it was Brass who spoke. "Thanks. Glad that wasn't too difficult for you. Why don't you go back inside and we'll call if we need you?"

"But…but…" Roland's eyes darted from Grissom to Brass and back.

Grissom shrugged. "He's got the gun and the badge. You should do what he says."

Reluctantly, Roland turned and headed for the office, disappointment evident in the set of his shoulders. He muttered something under his breath that sounded unsurprisingly like 'stupid fucking pig' but he kept walking, never once looking back.

When the door swung shut behind him, Brass turned to Grissom. "Have you lost your mind? Aren't you already in enough trouble over this? Do you want to get fired?"

Grissom eyebrow slid slowly toward his hairline and he crossed his arms over his chest. Holding Brass' gaze, he said, "Maybe I do."

Both Brass and Sara started to speak, sounds sputtering about without actually forming words. But Grissom merely held up a hand. "However, the thing I want most is to make sure Elizabeth Bethune and Doctor Rosenthal are _not_ in that room back there."

"Gil," Brass pursed his lips, gathering his thoughts. "You can't expect me to go back there and knock on the door based on the word of _that_ guy." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the motel office.

Shaking his head, playing his last card, Grissom said, "No, Jim. I expect you to do it based on my word."

Stunned silence followed his quiet statement, as if no words could possibly suffice. Grissom held Brass' gaze, refusing to back down from the challenge he had issued. The silence was tense, broken only by the cars passing on the street.

Finally, Brass dragged a hand over his face. "I suppose, if I don't go with you, you'll just go alone." Grissom nodded and Brass gestured toward the dilapidated building. "Come on then. Let's get this over with so those people can get on with their night."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"_So, Elizabeth…have you seen Gil Grissom lately?" My voice is soft, calm. _

_I watch as she considers the question. Is she trying to determine what I mean by lately? Is she trying to figure out why I asked? Her eyes close and I see her lips moving. Could it be she is praying?_

"_Answer me, Elizabeth." Again, the words are quiet._

_Finally, her eyes slide open and she shakes her head. Slowly, I stand. The scalpel is clutched in my hand which hangs loosely by my side. I take a couple of steps closer and I see her eyes widen with every inch. She knows she has lied. And she knows that I know. Her head begins to shake back and forth so rapidly I am afraid she will injure herself before I have all the answers. _

"_Oh, Elizabeth," I whisper. "Why?" _

_Like a snake striking at its prey, my hand darts out and runs over her. The touch is gentle, almost a caress. Then a narrow line along the pale, doughy flesh of her abdomen begins to weep, blood beading along its length. And her scream, this time, is primal. _


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: **Many thanks to Mingsmommy and Losingntrnslatn for their beta skills. I couldn't do this without them.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**January 2, 2008**

_I watch, fascinated, as the blood trickles across her pasty skin. The deep, dark red making strange patterns on her flesh. The coppery scent mingles with the smell of mildew and urine and fear, creating something rich and almost pleasant. _

_Elizabeth's screams have turned to whimpers. Her eyes are glazed and she is staring at me, but not really seeing me. I do not want to lose her to the shock. I need her answers. I must know what Gil Grissom knows._

"_Elizabeth," my voice is calm, even, "stay with me." She does not respond. No sign that she even hears me. _

"_Elizabeth!" Louder this time. Still no response._

_I watch her for a moment longer. She is weak. __**Weak.**__ Even in this, the greatest battle of all, the ultimate fight, she has given up before it has truly begun. Suddenly, anger surges through me. All the disgust I have ever felt toward this woman coalesces into a rage so intense that my vision blurs. My veins burn with it. My brain is on fire. Of its own volition my arm flashes out and I slap her, the sound loud in the quiet of the room._

"_Elizabeth," her name hisses from my lips. "Look at me."_

_Her eyes focus on me, and she draws in a deep breath. And then I see it. Underneath the fear. She is mad. Hatred flares in the brown depths and I smile. While she will not win this war, at least she is ready for the battle._

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The wind blew, carrying the stench of car exhaust and sending trash skittering across the parking lot. Sara tugged the stocking cap down over her ears. Glancing around, she felt a shiver crawl slowly up her spine. The ugliness, the seediness was easy to forget when a person wasn't exposed to it every day. It was places like this that brought home more than a few of the reasons she had left Las Vegas. As if he could read her mind, Grissom's hand landed warm and comforting against the small of her back.

"Neither of you has a gun," Brass glanced at Grissom as the three of them crossed the asphalt, snorting in disgust when Grissom merely shrugged. "Great. I don't suppose the two of you would just wait here."

"Sara…" Grissom turned to face her.

Sara stopped and, hands on her hips, shook her head. "No way." Seeing the steely glint in Grissom's eyes she lifted her chin and continued, "I don't work for you anymore. I'm going."

Grissom started to say something, then his mouth snapped closed. His gaze slid over her face like a caress. Underneath his worry and frustration, Sara could see the love lurking in his eyes. She met his gaze with a smile before blushing and looking away. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Grissom quickly donned the professional mask he had let slip for just a moment.

Brass stood quietly, watching them, a smile lighting his craggy features. "Feels like old times, you two." When they both gave him questioning looks, he chuckled and rocked back on his heels. "Don't even act like you don't know what I mean. Neither of you is stupid."

Grissom and Sara glanced at each other. He smirked and she shrugged and Brass, with a bemused shake of his head, turned and headed toward the building.

The Lucky-U was a two story concrete block structure that, at one time, may have been white; however, time and neglect had turned it a dingy grey. The second floor was reached by a set of concrete stairs which were located in a pass through in the center of the building. It was at the entrance to the corridor that Brass paused once more

His voice full of authority and a hint of fear, he said, "Stay behind me and neither one of you gets within thirty feet of that door. Got it?"

Grissom and Sara both nodded, each of them remembering a time when Jim Brass had gone into a hotel room and almost hadn't come out. Neither of them would ever be able to forget the fear and anger of that day and the days that followed.

With one last warning look, Brass led them into the pass through.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"_So, tell me, was your discussion with him about me?" I watch her now, reading the answer in her eyes, but still waiting for her to confirm it. Needing to know she will tell me the truth._

_Slowly, her eyes locked on the blade in my hand, she nods._

_My eyes slide closed. My emotions are a mix of anger and relief and fear. What does she know? What has she done? My eyes open slowly._

"_You stupid…BITCH." The words hiss out of me, but I do not move. I remain seated, watching her as she recoils from my anger. "Do you know what this means? Do you?"_

_Elizabeth is shaking her head, but she is no longer cowering. She is watching me as if she now has the upper hand. I will take no insolence from her. Not after what she has done._

_Leaning forward, I casually draw the scalpel along the top of her thigh. _

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The door was green, the paint sun faded and peeling. The numbers were painted on the portal in what could have been white out.

For a several heart beats, Brass stood just to the side of the door willing his pulse to slow down. The adrenaline rush was always there when he started through a door. But, since the incident, it wasn't excitement that had his body on overdrive, it was dread. Glancing behind him, he made sure Grissom and Sara were still waiting inside the pass through.

Satisfied, he rapped on the metal door with his knuckles. Tuning out the noise of the city, he tried to focus on any sounds that might be coming from the room. Nothing. Not even the hum of a television. Leaning forward slightly, he double checked the number.

Shoving his jacket out of the way, he unsnapped his holster to make his gun accessible. Resting his hand on the butt of his pistol, he once again used his knuckles to knock on the door. "Mr. Grissom, could you open the door please?"

Finally, a muffled voice called out, "Who is it?"

"Can you open the door?" Brass pulled his gun from the holster. "The clerk here was worried. I want to make sure the woman with you is okay."

"I'm the only one here. Maybe you have the wrong room." The voice came again, this time a little louder, a little closer.

"Look, sir. If you won't open the door I'll have to call the police. The clerk was concerned that your…friend is sick or hurt. If I can just take a look then I'll go away and you can get on with your evening."

With the snick of the lock, the door opened a few inches and a face peered out under the chain. Brass, gun pressed against his thigh, studied the man looking out.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"_One sound and I will kill you before they can stop me." My hand is fisted in her hair, my blade at her throat, and Elizabeth whimpers her understanding._

_The man at the door is with the police. He does not show a badge or even announce himself, but I know. I have seen him on the news many, many times. With a burst of clarity, I realize that he knows. He knows I am not Gil Grissom. _

"_May I help you?" I try to keep my voice steady and my eyes locked on his. Keeping eye contact is very important in making people believe you and I want him to believe me._

"_Can I come in?" His smile is easy, meant to reassure me. But his gaze is sharp, taking in every detail._

_I will never let him inside this room. I cannot let him inside this room._

"_I told you, I'm the only one here. And, as you can see, I'm fine." The smile I give him seethes with falsehood, but I must convince him it is sincere. . _

_I notice he is holding his right arm very stiffly at his side, his hand hidden behind his leg and I realize he has a gun. He could, at any moment, force me to open the door. I keep my body behind the barrier, ready to shove it closed if he should try to enter. But he doesn't. Instead he seems to weigh my words and come to a decision._

"_I'm sorry to have disturbed you, sir. I'll check with the clerk on that room number." He gives me a smile that does not reach his eyes – they remain cold and flat, cop's eyes. "You have a nice night."_

_Turning his back, he walks away. _

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"Well, Gil, something's not kosher with the Jewish doctor." Brass dragged a hand over his face, blowing out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Seeing identical smirks on the faces of Grissom and Sara he grinned before continuing. "Says he's the only one in the room. But there's a smear of what looks like blood on his face and he doesn't seem to be hurt."

"So, what are we going to do?" Sara spoke up.

"_We _aren't going to do anything." Brass held up a hand to stop her protests. "_I_ am going to call for back up." Pulling out his radio, he stepped further into the pass through. "You'd better be right about this, Gil, or we'll both be taking a vacation."

"I know she's in there, Jim." Grissom's voice was filled with conviction. "I called the hospital while you were talking to Rosenthal. She didn't show up for work and they can't reach her."

"Maybe she's taking a sick day."

"According to the person I talked to, Elizabeth hasn't taken a sick day in over four years."

"Shit." Brass scrubbed a hand over his face. "Are you sure, Gil?"

"I can't see through walls but let's just say I have a gut feeling." Seeing the skepticism in his friend's eyes, Grissom added, "And if I'm wrong, we can always work on your golf game."

Brass gave a short bark of laughter and pulled out his phone. "Very funny."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

'_God! God! God!' His name pounds though my brain. 'What now? What do I do now? I thought I had covered every angle. I thought I could kill two birds with one stone. How did it go wrong?'_

_Pacing. Pacing. Pacing. My mind turning over the facts, searching for a way out. _

_Elizabeth! Stopping, I study her. The rage boils up again. This is her fault. All of it. If she had stayed away from that man we would not be here. If she had just told me the truth I would not have hurt her. But could she do that? No!_

"_You," I whisper. "This is your fault."_

_I watch her, waiting on her to react. But she is still. Calm. Resolute. Slowly, I make my way to the bed and sit on the edge, staring into her eyes. _

_Elizabeth's body moves as the mattress dips under my weight. Her pale flesh undulating like mounds of gelatin. Her wounds opening and closing with the shift of her body._

"_You don't understand what you've done, Elizabeth." With a sigh, I shake my head. "You've ruined things. Everything._

"_Years of planning. Years of waiting. Years of wandering in the darkness waiting on God to show me the way." I am up, the need to move pushing me to pace again._

"_It was a divine mission. Do you understand that? Do you?" I drag a hand through my hair. "No, you can't possibly understand. You are too stupid to understand something so perfect._

"_They'll be back, you know. That man, or another like him." I feel the sweat rolling down my back. My breathing is shallow and my heart is pounding in my chest. My stomach clenches and I think I am going to be sick. Ruthlessly, I push that aside. "And he won't be alone. But I will make you a promise." I walk back to the bed and lean over her, putting my mouth next to her ear. "You won't live to testify against me."_

_There is a knock on the door and a voice letting me know the police have arrived. _

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Brass hurried through the corridor while calling for back up. Reaching his car, he popped the trunk and pulled out his bullet proof vest. He glanced repeatedly at his watch and then at the street. Every minute spent waiting for a patrol car was another minute wasted. Five minutes later, vest firmly in place, Brass heaved a sigh of relief as the two officers arrived sans lights and sirens.

Quickly filling them in, he led the two men to the pass through.

"Okay, it's room one thirty-five. I don't know if he's armed so we assume he is. Waleski, you bust the door. I go in first. Porter, I'll go low and you come behind me. Our first priority is the woman. Get her out alive." Looking back and forth between the two officers he asked, "Got it?"

The men nodded and Brass turned to Grissom and Sara.

"You two stay here until I tell you it's okay. Got it?"

He waited until they both nodded their agreement before leading the two officers to the correct door.

"Doctor Rosenthal, this is the Las Vegas police." Brass' voice was loud and filled with authority. "Open the door."


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Many, many thanks to Mingsmommy and Losingntrnslatn for putting up with me and for all their advice. It is truly appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**January 2, 2008**

"_Doctor Rosenthal, this is the Las Vegas police." Brass' voice was loud and filled with authority. "Open the door."_

_They are here. Just as I knew they would be. Though much sooner than I imagined. But I am ready. With a quick flick of my wrist, I slice through the tape holding Elizabeth's ankles._

"_Get up." Using my free hand, I grab her hair and tug, pulling her inexorably toward the edge of the bed. "Now."_

_Her body follows her head and she moves forward, struggling to push to her feet, her eyes leaking tears as I continue to exert pressure on her scalp. _

_Her legs give way and I hear her sharp cry through the gag as a handful of hair rips from her head. She kneels there, gasping for air, refusing to help me or herself. _

_She has accepted her fate and that angers me more than it should. Perhaps it is the anger imbuing me with superhuman strength, because I reach down, grab her under the arms and pull her with me into the bathroom. She is well over three hundred pounds of dead weight and her useless legs scrabble to find purchase as the carpet burns the skin off her heels. _

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Brass was standing to the right of the door with Porter beside him. Waleski, holding the battering ram, was positioned on the other side. All three pressed their backs into the concrete block wall. None of them moved as they listened intently for any sounds coming from the room.

"Malachi Rosenthal." Brass knocked on the door again. "Open up. This is the police."

This time he heard a voice, muted and indiscernible, followed by a thump. His gut clenched as he silently weighed his options. They could continue this game all night, or he could end it now. But if the woman was in there, he couldn't afford to waste time. She might not have much to spare.

Again he pounded on the door. "Last chance, Dr. Rosenthal. Open the door or we'll open it for you."

When he was met with only silence, Brass signaled Waleski. With the blood rushing in his ears he held up three fingers.

Three……

Two…….

One…….

As the last finger fell, Officer Waleski slammed the battering ram into the door just below the knob. With a crash, and the screech of metal on metal, the portal flew open and slammed against the interior wall.

Brass burst through the door, his eyes and gun sweeping low. He could feel Officer Porter at his back, the man following him through the door with his gun sweeping the space at eye level. Brass saw the rumpled bed with its fresh blood stains, the matted brown shag carpet and the cheap dresser with the television bolted to it. The smell of blood, coppery and dark, was mixed with the unmistakable scent of urine. Years of accumulated dirt and grime, the echoes of those gone before, mixed with those in an odor that had Brass fighting his desire to gag.

The room was lit by lamps, one on either side of the bed, and a hanging fixture over the requisite table and chairs in the far corner. His mind catalogued the location of each piece of furniture, filing it away for later. His gaze continued around the room in a clockwise motion until he came to the bathroom door. There he stopped.

"Gil was right," flitted through his brain only to be shoved aside for more pertinent data. A woman stood framed in the doorway, blood seeping from a wound on her thigh and one on her abdomen. Her hands were behind her, her arms obviously bound. Duct tape clung to her ankles. Her brown eyes were watching him, a flicker of hope lighting them for a moment before fading away.

Brass could hear the quiet whimpers from the woman, along with her ragged breaths. He could hear Waleski calling for back up and the words 'hostage situation' punching holes in the still air. He could hear Grissom outside, arguing with the officer about being allowed in the room.

"Keep him out." Brass ordered, never taking his eyes off the woman. He waited until he heard the not so quiet curse of acceptance.

Tension was a tangible thing. It was like wading through molasses; every movement slow and deliberate, every breath a fight.

"Elizabeth Bethune?" Brass kept his voice quiet as he straightened and moved further into the room. He watched as she nodded slowly, both of them conscious of the scalpel resting like a lover's kiss against her jugular. With his eyes locked on hers, hoping he appeared calmer than he felt, he said, "Just try to stay calm."

A bead of sweat ran along the back of Brass' neck, tickling past his collar. He fought the urge to wipe it away. He couldn't afford a moment's distraction. Not now. Not when there were lives on the line.

Brass turned his attention to Malachi. The man was in his late thirties or early forties. He stood behind Elizabeth, using her as a shield. The arm he had wrapped across Elizabeth's shoulders was tanned and muscular. The hand clutching the scalpel was steady.

Remembering his training, Brass ran over in his head what he needed to do. Keep the perp calm. Establish a rapport. Don't let the situation deteriorate. Get the hostage out alive. All-in-all those things made sense. But he knew better than anybody else how quickly these things could go south.

The whoop of sirens signaled the arrival of more police and soon the room was awash in the red and blue pulse of their lights. Outside, radios crackled and doors slammed and voices called out instructions. The entire scene took on a sense of urgency it hadn't had before.

Brass blocked out the noise and with his voice steady, he addressed the doctor. "Look, why don't you let Elizabeth go? She hasn't done anything."

"Actually, she has." Malachi's words were calm, his voice low and pleasant.

His composure sent a frisson of unease up Brass' spine. This guy was way too cool for the situation. At this point, most people would be screaming, cursing, begging for you to let them go, bargaining for their lives. But this guy was like ice. Not a hint of anxiety. Not a bead of sweat. He was like a serpent just waiting for his chance to strike. And for a moment, Brass wondered if Elizabeth would make it out alive.

"I understand…" Brass began in an attempt to get the man to lower his guard.

"No, you do not." Again, they could have been discussing the weather. "And you never will."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

_I want to laugh. That man…that__** detective**__…thinks he understands me. He thinks he understands my motives, my drives, my Mission. He knows nothing. Less than nothing._

_I watch him watching me and I can smell his fear. For all his years on the job, he still believes Elizabeth and I are leaving this place alive._

"_I want to speak with Gil Grissom." I smile. "Now, please."_

"_I'm afraid that's not possible." His voice is still calm despite the way my request must have troubled him. "We can settle this without bringing anybody else in."_

"_No, we cannot. I want to speak with Mr. Grissom." I pause for a moment, feeling the power growing within me. "Consider that my first demand."_

_The insipid little man is hesitating. I know what he's thinking; this whole situation could go horribly wrong and then the __**great**__ Doctor Grissom will be another liability. Another unarmed person he will have to be responsible for. I see the decision in his eyes, even as he opens him mouth._

"_Weigh your options carefully, Detective. You can bring him to me or I will slit her throat and you can carry both of us out of here in body bags." I smile and knick Elizabeth's skin with the blade. "It is, after all, your choice."_

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Sara paced the parking lot, cell phone pressed to her ear. "I know, Greg. And I swear I'll explain everything later. I just need you to run this guy for me."

"How long have you been in town?" Greg asked as he entered the name.

Sara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Two days. Are you doing it?"

"Yes, Obi-Wan. Have a little patience. And a little faith in my multi-tasking abilities." He paused, humming a little as he read what was on the screen. Just when Sara thought she would scream in frustration, he said, "Okay. Guy looks clean. No record. No wants. No warrants. Nothing to explain why he'd be holding some woman hostage."

"There has to be more. You don't just wake up one morning and decide to kidnap somebody and hold them hostage." Sara's long legs ate up the pavement as she considered all the possible reasons for Rosenthal's behavior. "Run him through LexisNexis, Greg, see if anything pops."

"You got it." Greg began booting up the program. "Do you want to wait, 'cause this could take awhile."

Sara shook her head. "No. Just call me when you get something." Pausing, she ran a hand over her eyes. "Thanks, Greg. And remember…."

"My lips are sealed."

Sara smiled when she heard him zip and lock his lips. "Later," she murmured and closed the phone.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"Why do we need him?" Brass asked, his voice full of scorn. "You not man enough to deal with me?"

He could hear a slight sigh come from Elizabeth, but Brass kept his eyes trained on Malachi.

"Pardon the expression, Doc, but don't you have balls big enough to face me, or do you need another science nerd in here to hold your hand?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth's head bob once.

The man's face remained impassive, but his eyes narrowed just the slightest bit and Brass knew he was pushing the right buttons. He had built his entire career on being able to read people and situations like these tested that ability to the max.

"Think I'm too smart for you? Think I might figure out why you killed those women?" Brass's grin was mocking. "I'll tell you a secret. I already know. And I think you are one sick bastard."

Anger flooded Malachi's face with color. His eyes burned with a cold fire. Brass knew it would only take a few more well placed punches before the man exploded.

"You know nothing." The doctor spat the words, his disdain obvious.

"I know everything." Brass chuckled. "I know you killed them. I know about the drugs. And I know you think Elizabeth turned you in."

"Where is Mr. Grissom?"

"_Doctor_ Grissom, and why do you keep asking for him? We don't need him. I've already solved this case." Brass ignored the voice that told him he was pushing too hard, too far. "His work is done, he's gone home. All that's left now is to clean up your mess and leave it to the lawyers."

"You've proven nothing." Malachi seemed to gather himself together. Tamping down the anger.

With one last card up his sleeve, Brass let the sarcasm rip through the air. "Oh yeah? Let me guess…you think this will all fall apart if you've got an alibi, right? And I bet the little wife will swear on a stack of Torahs you were at home with her when every one of those poor women died."

Brass watched, every muscle poised to spring into action, as Malachi's hand left Elizabeth's neck. He pointed the scalpel at the detective and screamed, spittle flying from his mouth.

"You leave Renee out of this!"

From that point, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Brass watched as Elizabeth pushed her arms back and grabbed at Malachi's groin. She latched on and began to wrench his testicles away from his body with a feral look of immense satisfaction on her face.

The scalpel fell, end over end, light glinting off the razor sharp blade. It landed without a sound on the carpet at their feet, bouncing once. Malachi gave an anguished howl, that seemed to last for hours, as he slowly sank to the floor. His hands were clasped between his legs, as if he could undo the damage she had done.

Free from his grasp, Elizabeth took a few halting steps forward before falling to her knees, her legs no longer able to support her.

With a whoosh, time righted itself and Brass was moving. The sound of Malachi's retching filled the air, along with the terrified whimpers coming from Elizabeth.

"Porter, keep an eye on him. When he stops puking cuff him."

Shoving his gun in his holster, Brass pulled the spread from the bed and covered Elizabeth.

"Waleski, get the paramedics in here."

Leaning down, he took her hand. "You're gonna be fine. That was a very brave thing you did."

"I…th-thought…you weren't…ever g-g-gon-na…figure it out." Elizabeth's teeth were chattering, adrenaline and nerves making her hard to understand.

He gave a quiet chuckle. "Maybe I'm not as smart as I wanted the doc there to believe."

Before she could answer, the paramedics were pushing Brass to the side.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Sara's phone vibrated and she walked away from the frenzied scene before flipping it open.

"Sidle," she said as she pushed a finger against her other ear to block out the noise from the crime scene behind her. She listened intently, her head nodding every so often. Closing the phone, she simply stood there for a moment, her back to the chaos, her mind processing what Greg told her.

"Renee?"

Sara heard the surprised question but ignored it, still trying to piece everything together.

"Renee? Please look at me." After a pause the voice continued. "I'm so sorry, Renee. Please…"

When she turned to find the voice, her eyes landed on the perp just as Officer Waleski folded him into the back of the squad car. She watched as his face crumpled and he began to sob.

Shaking her head in pity, Sara moved to find Grissom. She had some information he was going to need.


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: Not Mine.**

**A/N: Thanks so much to Losingntrnslatn and Mingsmommy for taking time out of their busy schedules to help me with this. I appreciate it more than they will ever know.**

**January 3, 2008**

"We can't prove he killed those women, Gil." Brass' gaze flicked to the man beside him before returning to watch Malachi.

The doctor was sitting in the interrogation room, an ice pack between his legs, staring at the mirror behind which Brass and Grissom stood. At some point since after being placed in the patrol car, he had regained his composure. Even with his hair standing on end and his eyes bloodshot, Malachi's expression was strangely calm.

"Then we'll just have to get a confession." Grissom's lips curved up in a sad smile as he thought about the women who died and the families who suffered because of the man sitting on the other side of the glass.

Slowly, Brass turned to look at him. "What do you know that I don't?"

Without a word, never taking his eyes from the man in the other room, Grissom held out a piece of paper. Brass took it and let his eyes skim over the page, absorbing the words.

Giving a low whistle, Brass asked, "How long have you known about this?"

"Sara called Greg from the motel. He didn't call back until it was over." Grissom turned to face Brass.

Brass read over the information one more time. He ran a hand over his head, baffled for a moment by the implications of the words on the paper. "Wait. Isn't that…?"

Grissom nodded. "Yeah. So, how do you want to play this?"

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICCSICSICSI**

"Dr. Rosenthal," Brass' tinny voice floated through the speaker into the observation room. "You have been arrested for the kidnapping and attempted murder of Elizabeth Bethune." Grissom watched Brass through the glass. "Did the officers at the scene read you your rights?" The doctor did not acknowledge the detective and Brass heaved a sigh. "Well, then let's make sure you're properly Mirandized for the record." Brass put a printed version of the rights in front of Rosenthal. "You have the right to remain silent…"

As Brass was reading the man his rights, Grissom turned his gaze to Malachi. He had come across a lot of killers in his years on the job but Malachi Rosenthal was a different breed. Giving credit where it was due, the man had been caught, red-handed, and yet he didn't appear even the least bit worried. If anything, he seemed confident, as if this was just a temporary setback for him.

The charges against him were astounding; kidnapping, assault with a deadly weapon, forgery. The list went on and on. And they hadn't gotten to the murdered women yet. Both Grissom and Brass knew some of the charges would get dropped. But Brass' theory was sling all the shit at the wall and something was bound to stick.

Grissom wanted nothing more than to be in that room. But when he called Maddie and explained the situation, she was more than adamant he stay out of the interrogation. He was, after all, still on suspension, and his presence could compromise the case. Hanging up with her, Grissom paged Ecklie. He needed to talk to Malachi and Ecklie was his ticket.

Sara was at the hospital with Greg, who was interviewing Elizabeth and collecting any trace. While Sara couldn't do any of the actual work, she felt the woman would be more comfortable with a female present and Grissom and Brass both agreed. Greg, of course, was thrilled to spend any time with Sara and had left the building with a smile on his face. Catherine was at Elizabeth's house with a deputy to process that scene while Nick and Warrick were at the Lucky-U. And Grissom stood here, hands tied, and waited.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICCSICSICSI**

Retrieving his pen and the signed copy of the Miranda, Brass slid those to the side. "So, Doc, how's it hangin'?" He smirked.

Malachi merely stared at him, his dark eyes flat, before lifting the ice pack and dropping it on the table with a quiet splat.

"Not feeling up to chit chat?" Brass shook his head. "I can understand. Elizabeth really did a number on you. I'm surprised you can even walk."

"I will not discuss the condition of my testes with you." Despite his disheveled appearance, Malchi's voice was even, his words clear.

Pursing his lips, Brass nodded. "Okay, then let's talk about Elizabeth Bethune."

With a tilt of his head, Malachi waited for Brass to continue.

Brass asked question after question in an effort to establish a timeline for the previous evening. But Malachi just maintained his silence. He refused to either confirm or deny his involvement in the kidnapping. He merely sat, watching Brass with derision in his eyes.

Changing tacks, Brass leaned back in his chair. "You have some sort of grudge against her?" Brass shrugged. "I mean, it's not every day a guy drugs a woman, kidnaps her and uses a scalpel to cut her up. What'd she do to you?"

Once again, Malachi simply said nothing. In fact his only show of emotion came when he winced after shifting in his seat.

"Maybe it was just a little love play gone wrong." Brass smirked at the look of revulsion on the other man's face. "Come on, Doc. You don't have to pretend for me. I know how it goes."

"How _does_ it go, Captain?"

"Guy like you. Woman like that." With a chuff of laughter, Brass shook his head. "Never would've thought you'd go for that type, but hey…everybody has their own kink. Right?"

Malachi clenched his hands together, his knuckles showing white against his tan. "I have never…would never…"

"Sure, Doc." Brass's smile was condescending. "Maybe that's why you were so upset. Skinny trophy wife find out you like a woman with a little meat on her bones?"

His jaw clenched and Malachi shook his head from side to side. "That is the most ridiculous-…"

Once again, Brass cut him off. "Did she call up the little woman? Did Elizabeth tell her about your affair? Is that why you decided to carve her up like the fatted calf?"

"Shut up!" Malachi's hands slammed down on the table and he jumped to his feet, towering over Brass. His chair toppled over, the plastic and metal hitting the tile floor with a loud crack.

The door opened and a uniformed officer stepped inside. Brass, his eyes glued to Malachi, held up a hand to stop the officer.

"Sit down, Doc." His voice was calm, but there was steel underneath. "_Now_."

Reluctantly, Malachi righted his chair and sank into it.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICCSICSICSI**

"Gil," Ecklie shoved his hands in his pockets and took in the scene in the interrogation room, "you shouldn't be in here. Are you trying to get fired?"

Grissom turned to look at the other man. "There are worse things, Conrad." When the man stiffened in shock, Grissom let a satisfied smile slide over his face.

Ecklie studied Grissom, his confusion evident. Finally, he shrugged and turned back to the scene in the other room. He had learned long ago not to try to figure out the man beside him. "So, why did you page me? And please make this good."

"Don't worry. You won't have to find my replacement just yet."

Quickly, succinctly, Grissom explained the situation. Beginning with the string of dead women and ending with the kidnapping and assault of Elizabeth Bethune, he laid out the facts. When he was done, he nodded toward the window, "Brass has been with him for about an hour, but I'd like to talk to him."

"Gil, I still don't see how you hope to tie him to these dead women." Ecklie held up a hand to stop Grissom from interrupting. "Obviously he's going down for the woman at the motel. But we don't have one shred of evidence for murder."

"Look, Conrad," Grissom ran a hand over his mouth, "You're right, I don't have any evidence. And you know how hard that is for me to admit."

"Give me something, Gil. Anything." Ecklie ran a hand over his head and heaved out a sigh.

Silently, Grissom handed over a sheet of paper, waiting patiently while Ecklie read over the information.

With a shake of his head, Ecklie handed it back to Grissom. "This doesn't prove anything. Tell me how he killed them. Tell me somebody can place him near one of these women around the time she died. Tell me you have a smoking gun. A wife who…."

"Someone I trust once told me that often the why is just as important as the how."

"Do you record everything I say?" Sara chuckled as the two men spun toward her, surprise evident on both their faces. "Hi, Ecklie."

"Sidle…um…Gri…Sara." Ecklie blushed, the top of his head turning a brilliant scarlet.

Sara raised a questioning eyebrow at her husband, who had the good grace to look embarrassed. With a chuckle, she shook her head. "I may have something that will help. Greg took the official statement from Elizabeth, but I made my own notes."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICCSICSICSI**

The door snicked closed behind Grissom as he entered the interrogation room. When Brass looked up, a question in his eyes, Grissom merely nodded and made his way to the chair next to the detective.

"Good morning, Malachi." Grissom gave the man a small smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Do not patronize me, _Mister_ Grissom. I expect better of you. And I do not recall granting you permission to use my given name."

Grissom dipped his head and pursed his lips. "I apologize." Calmly, he opened his notebook and skimmed over the words on the page. "May I ask you a few questions, _Doctor_?"

"Did you come here to play the good cop to his bad?"

"I'm not a police officer. And I am not here to play." Grissom held the man's gaze. "I take kidnapping and assault very seriously, as seriously as I take murder."

For a moment, Malachi studied his adversary. Then, with a slight nod and a wave of his shackled hands, he said, "Then by all means, ask your questions."

"Thank you." Grissom turned to Brass, sliding the man's folder over in front of himself. "May I?"

Brass shrugged, watching the criminalist curiously. Grissom opened the cover and began to scan the page that was on top. After a moment, he slid the page to the side and rested his forearms on the table. Lacing his fingers together, he cleared his throat.

"We both know you weren't having an affair with Elizabeth Bethune." Grissom shook his head, bemused. "I've seen the way you look at her. So, the question is, what happened?"

Malachi remained silent, watching Grissom as one would a predator.

"Would you like to know what I think?"

"By all means," Malachi sneered, "Tell me your theory."

Sitting up, Grissom plucked a photo from the file and slid it over to Malachi. "I think she knows something that ties you to this woman."

The picture was of Angela Martin, the first woman fitting the pattern Dr. Robbins had found. Her face was waxen, tinged blue at the lips. And the tops of the Y-incision could be seen just below each collar bone.

Without a flicker of emotion, Malachi studied the photo. After a moment, he pushed it back across the table. "I do not know that woman."

"Her name was Angela Martin. She was a thirty-eight year old mother of two."

Malachi shook his head. "The name means nothing to me."

"I'm sure it doesn't." Grissom slid a second photo across the table. "Just as I'm sure the name Sandra O'Dell won't mean anything. Nor will any of the others." Calmly, deliberately, he continued to lay out similar photos of the other ten victims. He named each woman in turn, ending with Jessica Williams.

"What do these women have to do with me?"

"You asked for my theory." Grissom leaned back, tapping a finger against his lips. "I believe you kidnapped Elizabeth in order to find out what she knows about the women who have died at Saint Rose's."

"I can assure you, Elizabeth and I did not discuss any of those women." Malachi pushed the photos back toward Grissom with a hand that wasn't quite steady.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICCSICSICSI**

"Conrad," Maddie Klein's husky voice carried down the hall, stopping the man in his tracks. "What the hell is going on around here?"

Dragging a hand over his face, Ecklie turned to face the Deputy District Attorney. "Good morning, Madeline."

"Don't." She strode up the hallway, her heels clicking on the tiles, russet curls flying around her face. "Have you talked to Grissom?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking." Ecklie put his hands on his hips and stared down at the woman.

"Cut the shit, Conrad." Maddie mimicked his pose. "Is Grissom in there screwing up my case?"

Huffing out a breath, Ecklie shook his head. "No."

"You lifted his suspension?"

"Yes, Maddie. I lifted Grissom's suspension." Ecklie rocked back on his heels, smiling at her irritation. "Don't worry about your case."

"Ecklie," Sara called as she exited the observation room. "Oh, hi Maddie."

"Sara? What are you doing here?" Maddie narrowed her eyes, studying the younger woman. Turning back to Ecklie, she said, "Please tell me she's not working this too."

Sara's eyebrow rose along with her temper. "I'm just relaying information. Not talking to the suspect or the victim. I might not be a CSI anymore, but I do remember some things." Turning to Ecklie, Sara continued, "I just talked to Greg. He found something at the suspect's house. He's got a uniform bringing it in for Henry."

"More Rohypnal?"

Sara shrugged. "Greg didn't seem to think so. But we'll see. I'm headed to the lab to meet the officer." With a stiff nod to Maddie, Sara turned away.

"Sara," Ecklie put a hand on her shoulder, "Thanks. And remember…"

"All hands off." She held up her hands with a smile. "I want this son of a bitch as bad as anybody else."

Maddie watched until Sara turned a corner before refocusing on Ecklie. "What kind of circus are you running over there, Conrad? You let your people do whatever they want. You've got Sidle running around, doing God knows what. You people are going to screw up an open and shut case."

Ecklie stared at her for a moment, watching as she tried to control her anger. He turned, taking a few steps away from her before spinning back. Pointing a shaking finger in her direction, he ground out, "Sometimes, Madeline, you have to put your faith in the people who do the job. I trust Gil. Don't you?"

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICCSICSICSI**

"Hey, Henry." Sara smiled at the lab tech. "How've you been?"

"Hi, Sara." Henry Andrews blushed under her smile. "I'm…good."

"Great. Did you get a sample from Greg? A vial from the Bethune case?"

"Yeah," Henry turned and picked up a small glass vial. "But I can't let you touch this."

Sara chuckled. "Relax. I don't want to break the chain. I just need a copy of the report. For Grissom."

Henry looked at her, a brow raised in question? "Where is he? I thought he was taking some vacation time." When she didn't answer, he shrugged. "You know what? It doesn't matter. Let me just print another copy."

When the printer completed its cycle, Henry plucked the paper out of the tray and handed it to Sara. She studied the information.

"Yes," she whispered. "Henry? I need one more favor."

Quickly she began to explain and within a few minutes she left the lab with the report and an evidence bag in her possession.


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: Not Mine.**

**A/N: Many thanks to Mingsmommy and Losingntrnslatn for all their help. I really appreciate it.**

**January 3, 2008**

"Okay, Doc, I don't have time for this." Brass snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Why don't you tell us what you two _did_ talk about?"

Malachi turned his gaze toward the detective. "Ask Elizabeth."

"Oh, we have." Grissom nodded.

"Then you have no need to hear it from me."

"See, that's where you're wrong." Brass jumped in. "How do we know she's telling the truth? You aren't exactly her favorite person."

"Captain Brass, I feel your sense of humor leaves much to be desired. Perhaps you should stick with police work." Malachi gave a malicious smile. "Or, as they say, don't quit your day job."

"Everybody's a critic," Brass muttered. Rubbing a hand over his lips, he continued, "Fine… If you want serious then, by all means, let's be serious.

"Since you refuse to talk about Elizabeth, let's go back to the women in those photos." Brass picked up the stack and stared down at the picture of Jessica Williams. "Let's talk about where you were on the night of December sixteenth."

"I am sure I was at home. All night." Malachi relaxed in his chair, resting his hands in his lap. "But I would have to check my schedule to be certain."

Brass nodded. "How about December third? Or November tenth? Or October twenty-second?"

"Again, I would have to check my schedule. But I am quite sure we were at home." Malachi's lips drew back in a cool smile. "I am sorry to disappoint you, Captain."

With a nod, Brass made a note in the pad he had placed on the table. "We'll check your calendar. Your surgical schedules, personal appointments. It was all in the warrant."

"What warrant?" For the first time the doctor looked as if he was uncertain.

"The warrant we obtained that allowed us to search your house and office." Brass studied the man across the table, noting his unease. "What? Did you think we wouldn't look into your life?" He shook his head, surprised at the man's naiveté. "By the time we're through, Doc, we'll know everything about you."

"What does my home have to do with Elizabeth Bethune?" Malachi clasped his hands together, his right hand twisting the band around and around on this left ring finger. "She was never there."

"Then our search won't find any trace of her." Grissom replied calmly, watching as Malachi's façade cracked a little.

"That is an invasion of my privacy. You have no right…" His voice trembled a bit, a quiver that was almost undetectable.

Brass barked out a laugh. "I think you have it wrong, Doc. You don't have any privacy. Not anymore."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

After talking to Ecklie and getting his reluctant approval for her plan, Sara went back to the police department and entered the observation room. She watched through the glass as the questioning of Dr. Rosenthal continued, Grissom and Brass swapping back and forth, keeping the man off balance.

He looked so normal. Dark eyes, dark hair, well built, handsome. A man who could turn a woman's head. Further proof that danger didn't always come with a warning sign. Suppressing a shiver, she clutched the evidence bag tighter.

Elizabeth Bethune had trusted him and she almost paid with her life. Her physical wounds would heal. They would leave scars, but over time the pain would become nothing more than a memory. The nightmares would fade, too. Sara knew that from experience. She no longer dreamed of her time in the desert. Instead, her dreams were of Grissom and Hank and the happiness just beyond her grasp. Despite the different subject matter they made her just as sad.

She let her eyes drift to Grissom. Observing him without his knowledge, she could see the toll the last six weeks had taken on him. The circles under his eyes told of sleepless days and too many double shifts. His hair was a little too long, curling at his collar. His lips were chapped, his nose and cheeks red from the sun.

She let her mind drift back to the feel of his body under her hands. He had lost weight. Not much but enough to make him feel different in her arms, between her thighs. A deep sigh escaped and Sara's eyes slid closed against the burn of unshed tears.

Blinking, she sniffled and wrapped her arms around her waist. She wanted to touch him, to ease his pain. To tell him, once again, how sorry she was. Her hands actually ached with the need to smooth away the new wrinkles around his mouth. She wanted to lay her head on his chest and listen to the steady rhythm of his heart. She wanted to hide from all the bad things in the world. She wanted to remember that, no matter how she grew up, no matter what had happened to her in the past, she wasn't evil.

What, she wondered, made people like her and Grissom different from people like Malachi Rosenthal and Natalie Davis?

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"You know what I find interesting?" Grissom's arms rested on the table, his fingers toying with his pen. "Every one of the women in those photos was a patient of one of your partners."

Grissom studied his prey, waiting for a reaction. Finally, he was rewarded with just a tiny flicker of uncertainty in the man's eyes, an almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. The hot rush of the hunt flared in his veins but his expression remained neutral.

"There are not many anesthesiologists on staff at St. Rose's. I am sure it is merely coincidence."

Grissom smiled. "I don't believe in coincidence. As a man of science, the mere idea goes against everything I know. Everything happens for a reason."

"What do you think, Doc?" Brass tilted his head, waiting for an answer. "Is it just a fluke that those women can be traced back to you? Is that what you're trying to tell us?"

Malachi ignored Brass, his eyes focused on Grissom. "God has a plan for each of us, Mr. Grissom." A smile tugged at his lips. "Destiny, if you will."

"So, it was God's plan for these women? Is that what you're telling me?" Brass leaned forward, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Am I getting it right?"

Malachi nodded, but his eyes never left Grissom. "We all must bend to God's Will. We must subjugate ourselves before him."

"Even if that means murder?" Grissom held is gaze.

Malachi's eyes burned with the fire of conviction. "God does not lead us where we should not go."

Anger flowed through Grissom. His blue eyes were icy as they bored into the man across the table. "People have been hiding behind God for centuries, Dr. Rosenthal. Using him to justify their violence and hatred. Killing and maiming in the name of religion."

"You are obviously not a religious man, Mr. Grissom." Malachi leaned forward, his voice strong and sure. "If you were, you would understand."

With a pensive note to his voice, Grissom replied, "My religion is justice. And I understand more than you will ever know."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Sara opened the door and slipped into the interrogation room. With a quick glance at Malachi, she made her way to Grissom. Placing her left hand on his shoulder, her diamond encrusted wedding band catching the light, she set the evidence bag and Henry's report on the table beside him.

Leaning over, she whispered in his ear. "The report is from a vial Greg found in his house. The evidence bag is a fake. Thought it might help though." Straightening, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. With a final glance at Malachi she left.

In a voice that trembled, Malachi asked, "Who was that?"

Grissom looked at him curiously, his eyebrow rising toward his hairline. "You mean, Sara?" He gestured toward the door.

Malachi nodded, his brow furrowed in confusion. "She was at the motel. In the parking lot."

Brass nodded. "Yeah. She was there."

"She looks like…" Malachi trailed off, his words sad, haunted.

"Who does she look like?" Grissom's question was soft.

Shaking his head, Malachi brought a hand up and rubbed at his eyes. "Is my wife here?"

Brass glanced at Grissom, before turning back to the doctor. Grissom's gaze never wavered from Malachi. But the anger was gone from his eyes, replaced by a deep, abiding sadness. "I'm afraid not."

"She should be here. Did you call her?" His eyes darted between Grissom and Brass. "I need to call her. She will worry."

"Where is she?" Grissom leaned forward, his quiet words sliding through the tension in the room. "I can have someone call her."

"We…we argued. She went to her parents' for a few days." Malachi's eyes filled with tears. "I said horrible things to her. I need to tell her I'm sorry."

"What did you argue about?"

Malachi clamped his eyes closed, fighting the tears. "It isn't important."

"Oh, I think it's very important." Grissom waited a beat, watching the man unravel before him. "Did you argue about the women in those photos? Did she know what you were doing?"

"I am entitled to a phone call. And I wish to call my wife." He drew a shuddering breath. "Please."

Grissom shook his head. "I don't think talking to her is an option. And I think you know that."

Befuddled, Malachi looked at him. "What do you mean? Why can't I talk to Renee?" The man's voice rose with each question, his confusion turning to panic. "Is something wrong with her? Has something happened?"

"Dr. Rosenthal…Malachi…we both know Renee isn't really at her parents'." His voice betrayed the sympathy he felt for the man in front of him.

"No! I don't know that! Where is she?" Malachi was frantic. His hands ran through his hair, tugging the strands into further disarray.

With a deep sigh, Grissom said, "She's dead."

His voice a mere whisper, a sigh, Malachi asked, "How? How did she die?"

"She committed suicide." Grissom's heart ached at the man's obvious confusion. Living with his wife's ghost was obviously better than the alternative.

"She would never do that." He was insistent. "That is the one unforgivable sin."

"We both know she did." Grissom pressed his fingers to his eyes, exhaustion sweeping over him. "And I like to think God understands."

The silence was profound. Not even the whisper of a breath could be heard. Then, slowly, building in tempo and volume, Malachi repeated one word, "No." With a final tortured cry, he buried his head in his arms and wept.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"So, he kills his dying mother on his ninth birthday. His wife commits suicide after a hysterectomy. Then a year later he just starts killing women." Brass leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "I don't know why anything surprises me."

Grissom took a sip of scotch before staring into the coffee mug he was holding. His gaze was pensive. "The thread tying it all together was the cancer and subsequent hysterectomies. He seemed to think he was saving these women and their families from something. Maybe he was saving them from the pain he suffered."

"You know, any attorney worth his salt will get that confession thrown out." Brass took a swallow from his cup.

"Won't matter." Grissom rubbed the back of his neck, massaging away the tension. "We've got the Sux Greg found in his house. His statement will give us enough for a warrant for the hospital security videos. That should place him on the scene for at least some of the deaths. Ecklie has agreed to send Jessica Williams' samples off for testing. She was the last victim so that's our best chance of detection.  
When we get positive results from her samples he'll agree to send the others."

For several minutes the two men sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The last thirty hours had been exhausting and they were both in desperate need of some rest. With the quirk of an eyebrow Brass raised the bottle in a silent question. Grissom held out his cup.

"What was in that evidence bag Sara brought in?"

"Water, I imagine." Grissom grinned. "She told me it was fake."

Brass smiled. "She has good timing." He watched Grissom, a questioning look on his face. Finally, with a shake of his head and a chuff of disbelieving laughter, he asked, "And the ring she was wearing? That a fake too?"

Shaking his head, Grissom said, "No. It's real."

With a flush of embarrassment over keeping more secrets from the team, Grissom waited on Brass to start peppering him with questions. He shifted in his seat, but held his friend's gaze. Relief flooded through him when he saw a smile spread over Brass' face.

"Congrats." Brass raised his glass in a toast.

Grissom dipped his head. "Thank you," he said before swallowing the last of the scotch in his cup.

"Gil?" Sara leaned in the doorway of Brass' office, her eyes warm and loving as she took in the familiar scene before her. "You ready?"

He turned in his chair and gave her a soft smile before rising to join her. Taking her hand in his, he said, "Yeah. Let's go home."


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: Not Mine.**

**A/N: This started as a tickle in my brain just over thirteen months ago. I expected to write a little case file (get my feet wet). I didn't expect this. But here it is. Finally! I want to thank Cropper and Superlibn who started this journey with me. Their help was (and is) most appreciated. Also, I would especially like to thank Mingsmommy and Losingntrnslatn who helped me carry the ball over the line! And last, but not least, I want to thank everyone who has read and commented and cheered me on. This wouldn't be half the story it is without you.**

**January 22, 2009**

The buzz of the propeller grew louder as the plane neared the airport on San Cristobel Island. Most days, the sound signaled the appearance of another handful of tourists, just there to take pictures of the flora and fauna found on the tiny island. Most days, Sara had no interest in the arrival and departure of the planes that shuttled passengers back and forth to Guayaquil, Ecuador. But today was different.

So much had happened in the year since Malachi Rosenthal passed through their lives. Warrick's death shocked and saddened everyone, punching a huge hole in a team that was already struggling. Then she had asked Grissom to leave, to run away with her, knowing before she asked what the answer would be.

Leaving without him had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done. Sending him the email urging him to move on had been her last effort to give him back what he so obviously wanted: his safe, comfortable life and his hard won career. Saying those things, telling him to move on, nearly tore her apart. She loved him. She would always love him. Telling him they were over didn't make it true, at least not for her.

Shading her eyes with her hand, Sara stared at the sky. The brilliant sun warmed her arms and legs even as the breeze lifted her hair off her neck. What started as a spec on the horizon was now very obviously a twenty passenger prop plane and Sara couldn't stop the smile sliding over her face.

She wasn't surprised when he failed to respond to her email. That wasn't his way. He avoided confrontation at all cost, especially with her. And as the weeks passed Sara found herself accepting that they were really and truly finished. When his name appeared in her inbox she waited two days before opening the message, her heart and mind warring over the decision. The wounds were healing and she was afraid of tearing them open again. But, in the end, her heart won out. It always did.

There were no quotes from the Bard, no flowery passages from Longfellow or Browning or Keats. The email was pure Grissom; each and every word. He told her he was sorry. He told her he missed her. He told her what a fool he was. More importantly, he told her how very much he loved her and how empty his life was without her.

It took her two days before she was able to respond.

When the wheels touched down with a sharp bark of rubber on asphalt, she had to force herself not to run out to meet him. Months, years, she waited and it had finally paid off with the arrival of the tiny white plane currently taxiing toward the hangar. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she bounced on the balls of her feet; energy surging through her body, anticipation making her unable to stand still.

After what felt like a lifetime, the door opened and the passengers began to disembark. There were a handful of college students, each wearing the baggy clothes and the requisite flip flops, which seemed more like a uniform than a statement anymore. She knew they were there to volunteer at the research center when she saw the director rush over to greet them. Giving him a quick wave, she turned back to the plane. Next off were two couples who had undoubtedly come over for a day trip. Cameras in hand, they climbed into one of the two waiting taxis.

Finally, when she began to feel the first rush of disappointment, the first tingle of fear that he had changed his mind, he was there. Grissom. In that impossible Hawaiian shirt and the straw hat she loved to hate. With his hair curling against his collar and a duffle bag slung over one shoulder, he made his way down the stairs. Stopping at the bottom, he looked around, his face lighting up when he saw her.

He took the first step. She was almost positive he did. But, if she was honest, it didn't matter who made the first move. All that was important to her were his arms around her, his mouth on hers. He was warm and alive and so very real. And her heart began to heal.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Grissom's fingers trailed slowly up and down her spine. The breeze lifted the gauzy curtains, drying the sweat on his skin. The warm air carried the clean scent of the ocean, a far cry from the stench of exhaust fumes so prevalent in Las Vegas. With his eyes closed, Grissom reveled in the feel of Sara's naked, sated form snuggled against him, of her fingers tracing random patterns on his bare chest.

"Penny for your thoughts." He turned and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Hmmmm." Sara stretched, her soft skin sliding against him. "I was just thinking how great this dream is." Her normally husky voice was deeper as she floated on the edge of sleep.

Chuffing out a laugh, Grissom clasped her hand and brought it to his lips. He brushed a kiss over the ring on her third finger. "It's not a dream, Sara."

"Are you sure?" Timid and uncertain, the question whispered over his skin.

He turned until he was lying on his side, his eyes finding hers in the dim light of the moon filtering through the open doors. Brushing her hair off her cheek, Grissom let his eyes drift over her face. With a finger, he traced the curve of her brow, the line of her jaw, the fullness of her mouth. After a while, he placed a soft kiss on her lips.

"Sara, I…my whole life has been shaped by loss." Grissom's eyes closed for a second as he gathered his thoughts. "You know, when my father died nobody would tell me what happened. That's why I decided to do what I do…did." With a gentle smile he kissed her nose. "It's going to take a while to get used to that."

"We've got time." Sara ran a hand over his beard.

"My mother never got over him." Grissom turned his head into her hand, kissing her palm. "I watched her suffer. I watched her miss him every single day. And it scared me. To love like that scared me…_so much_."

"Gil," Sara's eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. I was happy with my life. I had a job I loved. I played the occasional game of poker with acquaintances who didn't want anything but my money. I raced my roaches." He shrugged. Then, with a sigh, he sat up and leaned back against the headboard, the sheet bunching around his hips. Sara moved up to sit beside him, watching his face as he spoke. "I thought my life was fine. Then I met you. And I knew you were it."

Sara gave him a watery smile. "It?"

He chuckled. "Yes. You were it. _The one_. Just like my father was the one for my mother." He turned, his eyes finding hers in the muted light. "I ran as fast and as far as I could. But then Holly was shot and I called you."

Sara swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "Nick was taken and we ended up in bed."

"My mother died and Jim was shot…" Grissom shrugged.

"And you went to Massachusetts."

Grissom wrapped his hand around hers, threading their fingers together. "You were kidnapped and everything went wrong." He paused to stare at their hands for a moment, willing the images of her battered body out of his mind.

"Then Warrick…" He drew in a shuddering breath. "And you asked me to go away with you. I wanted to…"

"So why didn't you?" Sara's words were gentle, curious.

"I was scared." With a quick shake of his head, Grissom said, "That's only partly true. I was angry.

"You did what I always knew you would. After Natalie, you left me. I let you in and you left." Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Grissom continued, "But I never really let you in. Not completely."

Sara climbed out of bed, picked up his shirt and slipped into it. Her hands trembled as she buttoned it. "You gave me what you could." With a last look at him, she stepped out onto the balcony.

Grissom muttered a curse and, flinging the sheet off, climbed out of bed. He found his pants draped over the chair in the corner of the room. Slipping them on, he zipped them, but didn't bother with the button. Then he followed Sara.

The moonlight painted a brilliant path along the water and gave the soft white sand a silvery glow. The only sound was the rush of the waves against the sand.

"I know it wasn't enough." Grissom tilted his head back to look at the stars.

For a long while they stood, leaning against the railing and staring out at the sea. Just off the beach, several fur seals frolicked in the calm water, hunting and feeding while the sun was down. Finally, Sara straightened up and stretched. Arms over her head, rising up on her toes, the hem of the shirt barely reaching to top of her thighs, she groaned.

"I'm gonna get a beer. You want one?"

Grissom nodded. "Yeah."

Sara padded inside and returned with two bottles. Grissom took his and murmured his thanks before taking a long drink. His throat worked as he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, muscles moving under the skin. He could feel her eyes on him, the heat of her gaze.

Sated for the moment, he checked the label. "Nevada?"

Sara smirked and shrugged. "It's good beer."

He nodded. "Sara, I..," he began.

"Why did you…?" Sara spoke at the same time.

After a brief chuckle, Grissom motioned for her to continue.

She turned to face him. "Why did you come here?"

He took another swallow before cupping the bottle in his hands. "I lost the one thing I couldn't live without."

With a hand that shook, Sara reached out and cupped his cheek. Gently, she turned his face toward her. "What?"

"You."

Shaking her head, she ran her hand through his hair. "You never lost me. I was right here waiting."

Then she pulled him down until their lips met. The kiss was soft and sweet and full of hope. A promise for the future.

Pulling back, Grissom kept his arms around her waist. "Sara, I want to be what you need. Anything, everything you need me to be.

"You always have been." She smiled up at him, her fingers toying with the curls at his hairline. "Come back to bed?"

Much later, with Sara snuggled peacefully beside him, Grissom said a prayer of thanks. She was so beautiful, so vibrant, so alive. Murmuring quietly to what he thought was his sleeping wife he couldn't help the thread of emotion running through his words. "_I_ am so much less than you deserve."

She shifted and he could see she was hovering on the cusp of sleep. Sara's whisper was drowsy and barely loud enough to be heard over the night sounds, but filled with love. "You're all I've ever wanted."

"I don't know why, but I am grateful." Gently, he kissed her warm, soft cheek.

She blinked, large, sleepy eyes at him. "I just think we are meant to be." She sighed and burrowed into him. "Destiny." She yawned. "Fate."

Smiling, he pulled her closer. "God's will."


End file.
